To Save Your Soul (Avengers x Reader)
by Rhysand-vs-Rowan
Summary: After the events of "Captain America: Civil War", Reader is pulled off the streets by the Avengers to help infiltrate Alexander Pierce's (her grandfather's) home base and find Clint's wife and children who have been captured by Hydra. **Trigger warning at beginning of each chapter**
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter Trigger Warnings: Drug Use, Implied Rape (No actual rape scene)**

Chapter 1 Characters **:** Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Luis (From Ant-Man)

 _** This is my first attempt at an X-Reader, so please forgive any formatting/tense errors**_

* * *

**To Save Your Soul: Chapter 1**

 _If someone read my mind right now, what would they hear?_ You wonder, staring up at the fluorescent light overhead, _Static?_

It's impossible to say how long you've been laying in the dirty motel room. An hour? Three? Long enough that the ambient odor of stale smoke and cum had faded to barely noticeable levels. _Hey, if I wanted a Hilton, I'd have found one._ Besides, one night in so much as a Motel 8 would cost the same as a _week_ here, and you aren't exactly rolling in money.

 _When I go out to find food, I'll splurge on a can of Lysol,_ you promise yourself, _That's good for cleaning, right?_

You let your mind wander once more, this time imagining spraying the cleaner and hearing the little screams of "99.9% of bacteria" dying around you. What about that 0.1% though? Will it come for you? There are more than a thousand bacteria in the room, will that 0.1% of them unite to avenge their fallen comrades?

The thought entertains your frayed mind a while more. By the time your head has cleared and your stomach wakes, a fierce battle had been waged- those little bacteria versus the big, evil human who'd destroyed their homes and made a graveyard of their once-proud empire. The capitol cities were the stains on the bed, pillows, floor, walls, and yes- even the ceiling. Well, _were_ being the operative word.

The next batch of bacteria would move in when you left, they'd see the dead empire, sense the lingering poison in the air, and turn right around. Your mark would be forever on this room- on the bones of your enemies.

You giggle in the soon-to-be tomb, then clap a hand over your mouth. _Too loud, why did I scream?! Wait, did I scream, or am I just too used to being quiet?_ You turn your head and groan, _My stomach hurts… How long has it been since I ate?_ You glance at the clock and see that it's just after 8pm. _I got here at 2, hopefully that was today. I didn't have lunch, I used my money on the Stuff. Didn't have breakfast… I don't remember dinner yesterday, but that's nothing new._ So, it's been at least a day since you last ate. No wonder you feel like shit.

With a sigh you sit up, groaning against the hollow ache in your stomach. You're in your underwear, and even that's _barely_ there. Your bra is unhooked, but still on your shoulders, and just under the shelter of the cup you see the dark stain of a hickie and sigh. On the nightstand you find several bags of the Stuff and a few fresh needles. There are vague memories of letting the dealer follow you into the room to show you some new ways to inject for optimum enjoyment. Nudity isn't part of your little ritual, so he must have taken his payment in something other than cash.

When all this started, the thought would have horrified you, sent you straight to the police. Now? At least he paid you in Stuff. Still… You are not quite numb to it all yet, and what numbness is there makes you sadder than you can stomach.

You throw on some clothes quickly and stumble to the bathroom to gurgle a capful of mouthwash in the hopes that it clears a little of the fog still hanging over you. You are almost relieved to see the condom in the trash… Still, he's the last dealer you let into your room.

Like you haven't said _that_ before.

You pull on your jacket and stick a hand in the pocket. Sure enough, there's the cash you'd promised the dealer. Last time this happened the asshole had robbed you blind. Maybe in this part of the country people really _were_ nicer, if still rapey.

Maybe some of your evil stuck to him, infected him like a disease. It would eat him from the inside out like it was doing to you every damn day. A rot that turned your innards into a black, puss-ridden mass of dead tissue. At least, that was how you'd always pictured it.

You grab your purse and hunt down the room key, then slip out into the night. Your neighbor hesitates halfway out of the door at your sudden appearance, but once he realizes you have zero interest in him he goes back to slowly closing the door. You glance over at him as you turn your key in the lock-is the crazy bastard putting a strand of hair between the door and frame? You wish he didn't have the hoodie on and decide to imagine his face instead- he probably had a tongue sticking out in concentration like a complete tool.

"Paranoid much?" He shoots you a look, but you're already walking towards the gas station across the street. The thought of making your bacteria graveyard is too tempting to ignore.

OK, so maybe you're still a little high.

You wander through the sparse evening traffic, taking your damn time to cross that street, regardless of crosswalks or other drivers. If someone hit you, you don't think you'd even mind all that much. At least then the rot would be all over their car and you'd be free from the poison of your own blood.

Was it the scowl on your face? Your dirty clothes? Your matted hair? The way you stumbled slightly as you walked? Whatever it was, you'd made it as far as the welcome mat of the gas station before the manager came out from behind the counter with his hands up.

"Hey, no. You need to leave."

"What the fuck?" You cross your arms, "This is a free country, prick."

"Uh-huh. We've had enough of your kind in here. You walk around, buy something cheap, and our inventory comes up short."

"My _kind_?"

"Junkies," he shakes his head. "Look, I'm sympathetic, my cousin was a junkie too, but it's just business."

You hold up the cash in your pocket so he can see that you have money, "Listen, shithead, I just want some poptarts and a can of Lysol. You can follow me if you want, but I'm getting them here." The old you would have taken your business elsewhere, the new you knows that your mere presence offends the fat dickhead, and so you're determined to make him suffer it a bit longer.

You and the manager glare one another down in the doorway, but of course you win. You learned intimidation from the master, and besides- you're still high enough that going full space-cadet is easier than focusing. Eventually he turns away with a sigh of disgust, "What flavor poptart?"

"Blueberry, I need my vitamins." You wait with arms crossed as the manager obediently grabs your purchase and rings it up. You wad up a bill and throw it to him. He dumps your change in the bag and comes back around.

Halfway to you he hesitates and sighs, shaking his head, "Look, I'm sorry for being a dick." He grabs a couple bottles of water from the fridge by the door and hands them to you with your bag. He's being generous- they're the liter size, "That's safer to drink than whatever lead-soaked shit comes out of the drains in that motel. Have a good night, ma'am."

"Go fuck yourself." You drop the waters on the floor, kick one for good measure, and leave.

Master Paranoia, your neighbor, is walking along in the darkest shadows he can find. You watch him for a moment, bemused. Your day literally cannot get any worse, so you decide to follow him a bit. Maybe he'll at least be an interesting distraction. The TV in the room was visibly broken, and you don't feel like returning to oblivion just yet.

He stays to the shadows, walks back and forth along the same routes as if throwing off pursuers, and a few times he vanishes. You wander a bit and, eventually, catch sight of him in the opposite direction you'd last seen him. The Paranoid man doesn't want to be followed, and is damn good at hiding his path, but not good enough apparently.

At first you think he's heading to a church- someone that twitchy has to be an alcoholic. But he gives the churches he passes a wide birth- no matter if the parking lots are filled with alcoholics, junkies, or gamblers. You keep following at a distance as he goes deeper into the skeevy end of town. You've been here for three days and never came this far from the motel- it's clearly industrial, but the warehouses have more broken windows than anything and the concrete walls are cracked, smashed, and covered in graffiti.

 _He's definitely worth the trip, if only for the entertainment value._

You catch sight of him slipping into a large yard surrounded by a rusty fence topped in barbed wire. Two guys are waiting inside, illuminated by the headlights of an old van. The Paranoid Man jogs over to the men- one tall, black, and athletic (with biceps that barely fit through his sleeves) and a comparatively short, round, Latino man.

"How'd it go? You make contact? She gonna do this or what?" The black man crossed his arms, clearly bored.

The Paranoid Man pulls back his hood, revealing short brown hair neatly cut, "Didn't get the chance." He looked to the Latino, "Thanks for zeroing us in."

"Yo, it's my genuine pleasure man," the little guy sounded too eager and went on at about twenty words per second, "See, the way I see it? We family now, and family helps one another out, ya feel? See, your home boy is _my_ home boy and we all fugitives together now that those Accords happened. Well- I mean, _you two_ are fugitives, I'm a _recovering_ fugitive, all clean here. But if they go after my boy Scott they go after me, ya feel? And now you two are my boys too. Well," he laughed nervously, "you not _my boys_ but you my boys, get it?"

There was a long silence. Just before it got awkward, the white guy clapped him on the shoulder, "Sure do."

 _Fugitives? What the fuck are the 'Accords'?_ You hadn't exactly been keeping up with the news the last couple of years as you wandered place-to-place. You were more concerned with making sure he didn't find you than current events.

"We don't exactly have time to waste on this," the black man was speaking again. "I still say we just grab her and sort it out back at home base."

"I don't disagree with you." The white man said matter-of-fact, "Which is why Scott's clearing out the motel as we speak. He'll be here any minute."

"What's your plan for grabbing the girl?"

The white man turned to the Latino, "Got a ranged tazer on you?"

"Sure thing!" The bubbly guy ran over to the passenger door of the van and started to dig around in what sounded like a pile of junk.

You watch carefully, an itch on the back of your neck and a fluttering in your heart tells you this isn't somewhere you want to be. Whatever these guys are into, it's bad stuff. Kidnapping? Fleeing their motel in the middle of the night? They sounded too much like _him_. The rot in your blood is reminder enough of that world and the people inhabiting it. You'd gone to ground to escape that world, you can't stomach the thought of those men free, but what can you do? Calling the cops would draw unwanted attention. Hydra would come to seek retribution against whoever turned their soldiers in.

They'd find you, capture you, and take you to their General. _I'll never go back home_ , you vow fiercely, _Granddad will do whatever it takes to keep me there this time- chain me to the wall, implant a tracker… I'd rather die_. Maybe you are condemning a woman to death, but you tell yourself you don't know if they will ever catch her, knowing damn well you're making excuses.

 _That's what the Stuff is for, right? To make you forget the bad? And I've been through the bad already. Days like today are becoming a weekly occurrence. I don't owe anyone anything._

The Latino man found what he was looking for and ran over to the white man, "Here it is! All charged up! Well, it was three weeks ago. Hey, at least it's enough to hurt, right?" He smiled broadly, "How you gonna get her in the open to use it?"

The white man takes the tazer as you slowly back away from the edge of the fence. You will the plastic bag in your hand to stay quiet as you move, "I'm going to act weird enough to draw her curiosity, run her around town to make sure she's tired and a bit lost, then I'm going to do this."

You give up on the stealth and break into a run as the white man turns and takes aim at your back. You hear a short _pop_ and feel the searing pain of hooks in your flesh- followed half a second later by a wall of electricity that makes you bite hard on your tongue, spasm uncontrollably, and piss yourself.

Your mind is lost in pain and shock as he comes to kneel next to you, "Congratulations, (Y/N). You are now in Avengers custody."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Trigger Warnings: Addiction, Withdrawal, Some Sexual Dialogue, Implied Rape (No actual rape scene)  
**

 __Chapter 2 Characters: Clint Barton, Steve Rogers

* * *

 **To Save Your Soul: Chapter 2**

You are in Hell.

Your whole body burns and aches. Whenever you try to open your eyes, horrific monsters pounce on you, rip and gouge your flesh, and snap your bones in their teeth. No matter how you struggle you cannot even begin to fight them off. Your arms and legs are useless.

Your body is more exhausted than it has ever been, but still the muscles cramp and strain. You shiver in the icy cold, boil in incredible heat, feel your skin dry and break away, drown in sweat and tears-

-and there is nothing you can do to make it stop.

All of it- the visions, the pain, the fear, the screaming- cannot even begin to touch the _hunger_. Every fiber of your being aches for more of the Stuff. You'd do anything just to get even a gram of it in your system, that's all it would take to make the pain stop! Your heart hammers violently in your chest as though it's going to explode, your head throbs, an incessant buzz is all you can hear, and your stomach heaves and churns violently. Every now and then you tip forward and vomit over yourself… Then there is more water, the stench is rinsed away, and you are left to repeat it time and again.

For what feels like _weeks_ you beg and weep, scream and curse, make sweet promises and crude offers, but no real relief comes. There are quieter spells, when someone puts a cold cloth to your forehead and gives you a divine sip of water, but you are never freed from the restraints that hold you down.

One day you crawl back from the brink of insanity to the touch of another cloth on your forehead and instinctively open your mouth for just a few drops of water. The violent buzzing in your ears is faded far enough for you to hear the racing _beeps_ of a heart monitor and feel the soft breeze of the oxygen tube in your nose. You don't dare open your eyes- you can't bear to see any more.

"How's it coming?" Your throat bleeds as you swallow, though no one has given you water yet. You feel like a cracking scab. Whoever asked the question was on the far side of the room they kept you in- he wasn't the man with the cloth.

"It's coming." A patient voice answers softly. The closer man taps your lips with the end of a pipette and you open. This time water- cool, sweet water- pours over your lips and wets your swollen tongue. You choke and cough hard. That only brings more pain. You begin to sob weakly, like a small child presented with all the horrors of the world. You try to curl into a ball against the sharp pains wracking through you, but your bindings are just as secure as always, "Her episodes are getting briefer."

"Hell of a week…" The man by the door sighs, "I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

 _A_ week _? It's only been a week?_ Your heart sinks and you cry harder. Withdrawal takes _far_ longer than just one week. The pain is only just beginning.

"Please," you whimper, "you can do whatever you want… Screw me as much as you want- as much as your friends want, in whatever holes you want. Keep me like this, sell me… Just give me a fix…" Even you can barely understand the reedy croak that comes from your mouth. The Stuff is the only way to put you out of your misery, you'd rather _die_ than feel that pain again.

"That's not going to happen," the man next to you offers you more water and you manage a sip, " _none_ of it."

"I won't bite," you promise, "I won't even resist unless you tell me to."

"It. Isn't. Happening."

"We're the good guys," the man who had been by the door comes over and puts a hand on yours. "We're going to help you."

"Then make it stop hurting!" You manage a passable snap. Abruptly, your temper vanishes and you break down in more sobs, "Make it stop…"

"We are," the man with the water gently strokes your hair like a father comforting a child. The tender ache in your skin makes it feel like he's plucking the hairs out one-by-one, "We're doing our best."

"I just need a fix," you whimper, "That will make it better."

"No it won't. I promise you it won't." you only cry harder.

The tingling in your scalp is turning into a more insistent burn and slowly spreads down to your neck and back. Another wave of fire is brewing, "Please… Please…"

"Ssh, it'll be alright." He takes his hand off your head, "Steve, pass me that." The other man releases your hand and complies, "This will help you get some rest." It isn't the fix you need, but whatever he gives you sweeps over you and carries you off towards oblivion. "Sleep now," you hear him say, "when you wake up, everything will be alright."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Clint."

* * *

You stir slowly in the bright room.

Your body still hurts, but instead of feeling like your skin is being pulled from your bones and your muscles are ripping away, you just feel like one big bruise covers everything. You listen to the slow, rhythmic _beep_ of the heart monitor and let the sound guide you back to the surface. When you're ready, you slowly open your eyes and blink to dispel the fog.

You are in a hospital room. It's hardly standard sized, but there's enough space that it isn't claustrophobic. An IV stand on your left side has three bags filtering down into a single tube that feeds the port taped to your hand.

Thick white cuffs prevent you from moving your arms or legs more than a few inches. The soft cloth is hot and tight, and what skin you see between the sleeves of your gown and the restraints is still chafed and red. You look to your other side and see a clear tube leading away from you and around to the back of the hospital bed.

 _Of course_ , you think, _the tubes_. You can still feel the air blowing into your nose.

Someone propped the bed up before they left, but try as you might you cannot reach any of the buttons on the handle. The blood oxygen reader is clipped onto your big toe and, thanks to the cuffs, you have no way of knocking it off to see who comes running.

All you want is a drink of water. That's it. They have no right to hold you here against your will, but you don't want to argue that point yet. You just want a goddamn drink!

The image of three men in the parking lot comes back to you as you give up the struggle. They caught you. They brought you here.

 _"Congratulations, (Y/N). You are now in Avengers custody."_

You aren't entirely sure the words you're remembering are right, but you try to sift through the tempest that followed for some clue. Are you with _them_ , or with _him_?

It was two years since you broke out of your grandfather's base. He wanted you to be like him- the perfect Hydra soldier. Your parents were both killed when you were three, and your grandfather raised you for just that purpose. He wanted you strong, fast, intelligent, able- and you blindly followed his lead. Blindly trusted that he was really one of the good guys. When he came out as Hydra, when you realized exactly what path you'd been going down, you ran.

At first it was just living on the streets. You used your wit and guile- all those traits he made sure you possessed- to hide from the agents he sent in pursuit. Life was hard, you met some bad people, but at least they could help you hide from _him_.

When someone offered you a pill you were already a paranoid wreck, so what the hell? Maybe it would take the edge off. Stress was driving you insane, a little unwind couldn't hurt, right? Eventually the pills became more regular, the doses larger, and the highs briefer. You OD'd on them six months later and before you even woke in the hospital your grandfather's goons were in place.

He took you home, locked you in a room not terribly unlike this place, and forced you through withdrawal. When he was done though you knew what he'd do- everyone knew Hydra dabbled in mental "cleansing". He'd come for you. The shame of Hydra blood had driven you out once, you weren't going to let that be it.

He didn't tie you down, that's where the Avengers were smart. When a guard was distracted you grabbed a syringe of adrenaline from the "Cold Turkey Kit" (as you called it) and jammed it into his neck. Grandfather wanted you to be in your own room so the view might help calm you.

It made a wonderful escape.

This time you were on the run for a week before you even thought about looking for a dealer. The town was small, pills weren't as easily available, and you had nothing to offer in trade. The dealer took pity on you, gave you a syringe of the Stuff.

That first high was incredible.

You stayed with the dealer for a few months, became his trophy girl so he would hook you up with the right chemicals in exchange for a quick-and-hard whenever he wanted. When you were high he'd share you with his friends and make you watch the videos afterwards as if it were something to be proud of.

You told him to post them, and then you ran.

The thing about the putrid blood in your veins- you knew once those videos appeared online it was only a matter of time before your Grandfather came for you and rained hellfire down on that bastard and his perverse friends. You almost didn't feel guilty when you saw the news reports a few months later about the bodies of six poor young men found skinned alive.

After that? After that it was two years you barely remembered. A lot of stuff was probably best kept buried beneath the chemical high of heroin, meth when you were feeling particularly shitty. Until it became _only_ meth.

The last time someone tried to "save" you, you were a prisoner. This time wasn't any different.

Your mood sinks lower and lower as you wallow in your circumstances. A prisoner of Hydra. A prisoner of the Avengers. What's the difference?

After several minutes there is a soft knock on your door. You turn your tired eyes and a man with short brown hair enters. He isn't the one who shot you with the tazer, that's for sure. This one looks older, and he's giving off the 'Dad-Vibe' big time with his plaid flannel shirt and easy grin.

You immediately don't like him.

In his hand is a tall glass filled with some sort of thick, opaque blue liquid, "Good morning." He has crow's feet at the edges of his eyes that crinkle when he looks at you.

"What do you want?" you had one night of sleep- presumably with some pharmaceutical help. You can't tell that you still have deep, dark bags under your eyes, but if how you feel is any indication, you look like a tired piece of shit. Meth doesn't exactly make you pretty to begin with, and withdrawal is as big of a bitch.

He stops and considers it sarcastically, "What do I want?" there's a weariness there he keeps buried, but if he wants to pretend you can't see it, you'll go with that, "I want you to drink this," he holds up the glass, "and I'm hoping you can keep it down. If you do, we'll see about getting you some real food."

You hold your breath as he sets the glass down on a small bedside table and reaches over to untie your right arm. As soon as it's free you lift and bend it. As much pain as your aching muscles give you, the freedom of movement breathes some life back into you. The man holds out the glass and you eye it wearily, "What is it?"

"A smoothie." He waits for you to take it, "It's easy on the system, has some protein powder in it, and if you start throwing up again it won't hurt as much coming back up as solid food would." He lowers the glass slightly, "Listen, you've been here a little over a week now and you haven't eaten anything, but you've been throwing up almost non-stop. We can only do so much with the IVs. Help us help you."

"Let me go and give me what's mine." You counter.

He shakes his head, "I don't know if you remember, but you asked me about that before. I'm saying now what I said then- not a chance. We're helping you through this if you like it or not."

"Why?" Despite yourself, you take the damn smoothie. It isn't water, but it's wet and that's all that matters.

"Slowly," he cautions as you take a sip.

"The hell is in this?" you make a face. Nothing tastes right.

"Blueberry," he shrugs, "you had some poptarts on you, thought maybe you liked that flavor."

"Whatever," you take another sip. This time it tastes closer to what you'd expect, but your mouth still feels dried out and alien. The thick drink coats your throat and highlights where the skin is raw, but it still feels good. "Why are the Avengers concerned with my vices?" You ask as you take another sip.

"We need you to do something," he answers hesitantly.

"What?"

"Steve should really be the one to-"

"Tell me." You shake your head when he doesn't answer, "Your friends lured me into a warehouse parking lot, tazed me, brought me god knows where- and did god knows what while I was out-"

"-They would _never_ -"

"-and you've held me prisoner for a _week_ , you're _forcing_ me to get clean- you have no idea what that feels like," your voice breaks and a tear falls down your cheek. "I have _nothing_. I am _no one_. That's what you did to me. Now you tell me right now why I have to feel like this for some goddamn assholes I've never even _met_."

Clint hesitates for a long time, but right when you're ready to throw the smoothie in his face he breaks, "We need you to get us some intel."

"From where?"

He takes a deep breath, braces to be hit in the face with the glass, and answers you, "From your grandfather's house."

You don't take any satisfaction from the glass cutting his eyebrow.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Trigger Warnings: Addiction, Withdrawal, Rape Reference**

Chapter 3 Characters: Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes

A bit of an exposition-heavy chapter, but it had to happen eventually…

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

You must have passed out.

One minute you're smashing a glass of blueberry smoothie against Clint's face and watching the first traces of blood cut through it, the next thing you know the bed is down flat and you have an oxygen mask over your mouth. Your eyes are open and dry, and as you come to a nurse is gently putting drops in to help.

Both of your arms are free now, though your legs are still bound. Your hands are frozen in claws, squeezing the sheets so hard that your knuckles ache and burn. Another nurse is carefully injecting something into your IV. It feels different than the withdrawal- your brain isn't in as much of a fog, but it's like the world is moving disjointed from your own reality.

You turn your eyes towards the door- it's wide open and the white guy who tazed you in standing there with his arms crossed-

 _What the fuck?_ You blink a few times, _I'm losing my mind… His arm isn't metal- is it?_

He isn't looking at you, he's looking at the other side of the room, and he doesn't seem happy. You turn your head and spot Clint- glaring right back at Tazer-Man with one eye while a third nurse stitches a long cut through his eyebrow and into his forehead. Blueberry smoothie is drying in his shirt and pants, but he doesn't care.

"Congratulations on _breaking_ the asset," Tazer-Man snaps softly, "that was a good plan."

"Her name is (Y/N). I didn't mean any harm, I just wanted her to understand-"

"What? Understand what, Clint? That we pulled her off the streets against her will and put her through hell just so she could go back to _Alexander-fucking-Pierce_?! Oh, and _when_ exactly did you intend to tell me he's still alive? It's _why_ you pulled me out of cryo, isn't it? To kill him?"

"Yes, but not until we find _my family_. If we told you he was still out there, you'd run off to shoot him in the head and then I'd _never_ find them again." Clint's voice breaks at the end.

Tazer-Man is _audibly_ pissed, but he does lighten his tone slightly in sympathy, "Look, I get that you barely know me, but I said I'd find your wife and kids. I meant it. I'll kill Pierce- that's a guarantee- but I'm not doing it until we find them. And, frankly, I don't think this girl is going to help us."

"She has to," Clint whispers, "otherwise we've got nothing. You went to the farm- you saw the destruction. A grenade was thrown into the panic room, the bunker was empty, and our safehouse had been burned to the ground. What strings Steve managed to pull turned up nothing… Pierce _has_ to be behind this. He was SHIELD- he must have known about Laura and the kids!"

"Yeah, I was behind this when you just called him (L/N), remember?" Tazer-Man snapped again, then took a deep breath to steady himself, "I'm sorry about Laura and your kids, I really am, and I won't go back under until we have answers, but there _has_ to be a better way to find them than relying on _a meth addict_ to go on a _covert mission_. And there's a better way to _ask her_ than to _just dump it in her lap_."

"I'm with electro-shock," you mumble, then wince. At some point you apparently bit your tongue. You manage to raise a hand and push the mask off your face- the band wasn't around your head, evidently. Your hand is still frozen, but its starting to feel more like the muscles are cramped than any kind of paralysis.

 _Small fucking miracles._

Tazer-Man comes over to stand closer (he, for one, saw you looking around), but Clint is still at the mercy of the doctor, "How are you feeling?" he calls from the corner.

"Everything hurts ten different ways, so basically the same," you snap. Your head feels thick and hard, your eyes feel too buggy, and there's a buzzing in your ears as though a bee was trapped between you and the pillow.

"Just relax," the nurse says softly, "you had a seizure."

"I'm not an alcoholic," you grumble softly, "that's an alcoholic thing."

"A methamphetamine addiction, correct?" You nod, "Tell me- were you mixing tranquilizers with it?"

You look away, but that's all the answer the nurse needs. For the last few months straight-up meth wasn't doing it for you, not like before. You knew the larger and larger doses might kill you, but a dealer in Newark told you he could cut the meth with Klonopin or Valium, whichever the dealer du-jour could get you.

You don't look at Tazer-Man or Clint or either of the other two nurses checking over your IVs and readouts from the various machines, you're too embarrassed. It's like your mind only just processed that you were with the _Avengers_. People you'd admired ever since the Battle of New York, people you cheered for when the news was filled with the collapse of the Triskellion (mostly because you thought they were saving your goddamn grandfather)… And now, thanks to an ugly twist of fate, they needed your help and you were just sitting there, some pathetic junkie who couldn't even fight their own impulses… Someone with the presence of mind to know what you were doing was dangerous but the stupidity to find ways to make it _worse_ and yet tell yourself you were being smarter.

The Steve from that brief snap to consciousness you had before- he was probably goddamn Captain America. Great.

"I'm sorry," you mumble, mostly because the silence that began with the nurses' question has turned into a long and awkward one.

"You don't need to be ashamed," the nurse pats your arm, "but if we'd known that sooner we could have treated you more effectively." She shoots a sharp glare to Tazer-Man.

He holds up his hands- one is _definitely_ metal, "I watched her for a week, as ordered. How was I supposed to know what was mixed into that junk?" He balks under her glowering stare and immediately looks down to you, "I'm sorry, that… I shouldn't have worded it like that…" now _he_ was the embarrassed one.

"No it's… It's fine."

The nurse finishes stitching Clint's head and carefully applies a gauze bandage to the wound. As soon as she is done, Clint returns to his seat next to your bed, "I'm sorry about that," he also seems embarrassed, "I shouldn't have pushed."

"Can, can I ask some questions? Please?" you ask. You're drowning with nothing to hold on to beyond what you've overheard and what your fried brain can put together.

"Ask anything you want, we'll answer."

"You were looking for me? For how long?" You look up to Tazer-Man.

He glances up to Clint, then looks back down at you, "About three weeks."

"How did you find me and Hydra couldn't?"

"I have my ways. You've left breadcrumbs over the years, and Hydra collected those pretty well. I followed the trail they left behind and made a few lucky guesses. I found you in Wadena, followed you on to Racine from there."

A cold hand grips your heart, "Did you see-"

"The dealer go into the motel with you?" You can't exactly turn away from him, and you're too weak to sit up so you can at least hold your knees, but he puts a hand gently on your shoulder, "I didn't know what happened, but I've got a good idea now. I'm sorry I didn't stop it."

A tear slides down your cheek, but if you start crying now you aren't sure you'll ever stop, "You did all that with the door so I'd follow you?" He nods.

"And who exactly _are_ you?"

"Bucky, I'm a friend of Steve Rogers."

"He was here before?" You turn to Clint. He nods.

"What happened to your family?"

Clint sighs and runs a hand through his hair, "I don't know. Half the Avengers are fugitives now, the world turned on us. I was locked up, Cap came to get me, and when I went home-" he shakes his head and lets his misery show fully.

"The house had been ransacked," Bucky fills in, "it looks like whoever hit them did it during breakfast. There were bullet holes everywhere, Hydra's favorite caliber, and I found tracks from several large vehicles. The panic room was destroyed, and- well, you heard the rest. They were captured, I'm positive about that."

"How many people did they take?"

"My wife Laura and our kids, Cooper, Lila, and Nathaniel. They're just kids- Nate's not even two yet…" A tear slipped down his cheek.

"And my g- _he_ took them?"

"I'm pretty sure," Bucky nods. Clint only hangs his head.

"How do you know?"

"That's for Steve to say," Bucky answers immediately, "and I promise you he will tell you everything as soon as he's back. Can you hold off for a few days? You already heard the bad part, the rest are just details."

There's weariness in Bucky's eyes, but an underlying sincerity you want to believe, so you nod and accept that for a while you'll have as many questions as answers.

"I'd like you two to leave now," the nurse says gently, "and I'll be putting someone in here around the clock, so you needn't hover over her and _these_ needn't be on." She puts a hand on your ankle cuff, "The scariest part is almost over, she won't hurt herself."

"Alright," Clint says reluctantly. The nurse makes it clear with her stony face that there is no other acceptable answer. Bucky squeezes your shoulder and walks away without a word, but the other Avenger takes your hand gently in his. You barely feel it.

"I'm sorry about your family."

"I'm sorry too," he pats the back of your hand, "and I'm sorry for yesterday. You were in bad shape, I thought a night's rest would help, so I'm the one who gave you sedatives… If I'd known about the other addiction I'd never have put you through that."

"I don't know if it will hurt more later, but… I slept," you twitch your fingers as best you can as if to squeeze his hand, "that was worth it." As your head slowly cleared, the hunger began to return to fill its place. You released his hand and turned your head away. You knew it would be another hellish night, and the part that wanted you to be as alone as you could won out over the part that wanted him to stay and help you through it.

 _His family is in hell,_ you don't hear what else the nurse says to you after Clint leaves. _His family is in hell and he can't get them without my help. His wife… His children…_

You shudder to think what your grandfather might do to them, the family of an Avenger. He stopped hunting for them to retrieve you, the _Avengers_ \- the very same people who saved the world from an alien apocalypse and a global plot to destroy humanity's freedom- they couldn't get one small family from your grandfather's claws without _your_ help.

A junkie who'd whored herself for this or that so many times, what did you do after the latest rape? You went for pop-tarts, cussed out a store clerk, and stalked a man out of sheer boredom. _That_ was who they wanted to help save people who an _Avenger_ holds most precious.

 _They're damned._ The dark voice at the back of your mind hissed.

… _aren't they?_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Trigger Warnings: Addiction, Withdrawal  
**

Chapter 4 Characters **:** Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

* * *

 **Chapter 4 **

You wait for the arrival of Steve Rogers.

If anyone will understand just how bad of an idea it is to even _consider_ sending you back to Alexander Pierce, it will be Captain America… Though he was the one who signed off on your abduction in the first place. You'll convince him or simply sit down and refuse to move. He can't _make_ you go anywhere, especially not there.

Now that you are unbound and awake, the cravings increase tenfold. You have a persistent tremor in your hands that makes it hard to grip things, your legs feel like jelly, and your head lolls from side to side without much control. It is a feeling akin to having your blood sugar violently crash, but food cannot help. Only more of the _stuff_ can.

At night, white-hot lashes of pain rip through your stomach, but the nurses do nothing. Your doctor is a tall man with an easy smile and onyx skin who sits by you during the worst of it, but he can do very little. He tells you stories of panthers and lions stalking heroes in the jungle, or reads to you in an odd language. They are thin distractions from the hell of withdrawal.

You have two more seizures before the find the right mix of medicines to work with your body. If there is a fallout from the sedative Clint gave you, it's lost in everything else. Your nurses bring you books, but you can't concentrate enough to read. Next they try art- but you shake too much to hold a pen or brush. You played piano once, but your hands are too clumsy now…

Your first meal of solid food is mashed potatoes and chicken with corn. You have no appetite, but you start poking at the potatoes, sculpting them without much of a goal. The next day your IV is removed in favor of (heavily controlled) pills and a nurse walks you down a long silver hallway to a makeshift craft room. Inside someone shows you how to work clay into long ropes that can be scored, stacked, and smoothed to form bowls. It's simple, mindless work that is sturdy enough to survive your clumsy hands. It's the perfect distraction.

You realize that day though that you aren't in a hospital. That should have been obvious- if the Avengers are fugitives they can hardly come and go openly around the public- but it's a jarring contrast to your perceived reality. Between your room and the craft room (Or 'Lab Storage 6') are several doors marked "Biological", "Cryogenic Storage", "Research", and "Surplus Vib. Storage", whatever that meant. Each clear door revealed long hallways with even more secured rooms off of them. You were squished into what must have amounted to a janitor's closet.

"For the last time- NO." A tinny voice just barely reached your ears, "You were so damn scared of Hydra triggering you that you _froze yourself_!"

"Yeah, I know, I'm the one who requested it!" you look around for the source of the sound, but there are no radios in the room. Eventually, you spot a small air vent in the corner. Wherever this fight is taking place, the duct must be at just the right angle to pick it up.

"We have her now! We have our way in!"

"CLINT'S WIFE AND KIDS ARE GOING TO DIE BECAUSE OF _ME_!" the second man shouted. You are pretty sure that's Bucky's voice.

There is a long silence before the other man speaks again, "It isn't going to come to that, and even if it did- it isn't your fault."

"Clint came to help _me_. He left them because _my_ past came to bite everyone in the ass. He was in the Raft because he let himself get captured so _I_ could get away-"

"No. He came because _I_ asked him to. _I_ dragged everyone into that mess in Germany and _I_ am responsible for them being on the Raft. Me." The other one must be Steve Rogers. A cold dagger goes through your heart- if he was back then they were coming for you next.

"IT DOESN'T CHANGE WHAT PIERCE IS GOING TO DO TO LAURA BARTON!" Bucky roars, "He had me frozen, thawed, and tortured just so he could send me out to slaughter innocent civilians. The last few years before the Triskellion? I was his personal errand-monkey. He kept me out of cryo and had them rip my head apart over and over again. I may not remember everything I did for Pierce, but I remember the torture. I remember it more clearly than my own name most days. I don't just get _why_ (Y/N) shoots that poison into her veins, I WANT TO FUCKING JOIN HER. I won't let him put Clint's wife and kids through that."

"She'll help us," Steve snaps, "I know she will! To take a shot at Pierce in that compound, you'll need to get inside the border. Let's say you survive the fence, the guns, the gas, and the guards, then what? All he has to do is broadcast your activation code and you're his again!"

"ALL CLINT SAID WAS THAT WE NEEDED INTEL FROM HER GRANDFATHER'S HOUSE AND SHE HAD A SEIZURE! SHE CAN'T HANDLE THIS, SHE'S TOO WEAK, TOO FRAIL, AND TOO FAR GONE! SHE'S USELESS! SHE'S WORSE THAN USELESS-"

You don't hear any more of what Bucky says. You bolt.

When you work in the small crafts room, you are given some semblance of privacy. You're sure someone's monitoring your every move, you can feel eyes on your back, but there are no guards at the door, and the nurses come to you when it's time to go back to your room. You've never really tried to run before, but now you can't stop.

You run past your door and continue on to the end of the hall, then run along a perpendicular hallway, this one with a long line of nearly black metal delicately sculpted into jungle scenes. You run to the end of _that_ hall, then down another, and proceed through the facility until you run through a door, down a flight of stairs, and emerge somewhere covered in cobwebs.

Every time you slow down you feel the eyes on your back, hear someone running behind you, but see no one. You know something is chasing you, something evil and dark and faceless. Sometimes it's your grandfather, sometimes it's Captain America, sometimes it's Clint or your doctor or Bucky or the nurses- you're so scared tears begin to fall and you clamp a hand over your mouth to try to stifle the sobbing.

You run into the deserted level until your legs give out, and then you still pull yourself through a doorway and into a room filled with abandoned boxes. You crawl to the back and move them around you into a makeshift wall. Once you're hidden, once you're buried, you are allowed to break down.

 _They'll find me_ , you think. _They're probably already on their way here. They'll see where I went, they'll find their way down here and then they'll follow my tracks in the dust…_ You curl tightly into a ball on the ground and cry into the cold floor. You cry for the two and a half years lost to pills and drugs, you cry for everything you did, and for everything done to you. You cry for Clint's family, trapped in your grandfather's house. You cry for Bucky, who's story you don't even really know. You cry for the heroes who are piling their very last hope on you-

The Avengers broke something in you, and it's something you know can't be drowned out with anything you can take or inject in any quantity- they broke the wall that held back _you_. Everything you shoved away to be who you had to be to survive- your pride, your ambition, your honesty, your kindness, your _soul_ \- the dam breaks and it all comes rushing back over you. You can feel it all crashing into you, a wave of glass and nails that will pull you to your death.

After a few hours you sit up.

After another you leave the room.

Your way through the long abandoned level had taken you past a deserted lounge, filled with chairs covered in white cloth. Two of them have been cleaned off. One for you-

And one for Captain America.

He watches you with sad eyes as you take your seat, nothing but concern on his face. Your face is hard, decided, and determined. You stare at one another for a long time before he nods, "Hydra weapons fire tore apart their farm. Moving machinery like that isn't easy, but tracking it is. We found where the trucks and vans came from, followed the paper trail to Virginia, and linked that to a phone call made from an estate in _your_ name. Judging by the firepower moving into that facility, we figured he was inside. I took a prisoner, he confirmed it before I handed him over to SHIELD. Your grandfather took Laura Barton and her kids hostage, and he's gathering enough weaponry and manpower around him to do serious damage. Something big is coming, and we can't stop him until we know those four are safe."

He looks for some kind of recognition or _emotion_ in your eyes and finds none. Your face is stone. You wait for him to finish, then let out a long, slow, breath. When you speak, it's with a hard tone, "Growing up, he'd tell me these stories of his adventures as a spy, I didn't realize they were true until I was a teenager. My grandfather- James Bond. He'd tell me that the fights were a good thing- that from chaos comes order and truth. That he was making people's lives better by taking away what was hurting them…"

"I watched the fall of the Triskellion on the news, and I was terrified." Steve looks down, but you continue, "I couldn't reach him. I must have called a thousand times. Reports started to come out about a Hydra incursion and my heart nearly stopped. My grandfather was in direct oversight of SHIELD, over even Nick Fury himself, and I knew if anyone was targeted, it'd be him. The guards at home couldn't get any information, his bodyguards weren't answering their phones, I thought he was dead."

"Three days after the Triskellion, a caravan of SUVs came through the front gate and my grandfather was brought into the house on a stretcher with so many tubes and IVs coming out of him I wasn't even sure he was still alive. He woke up two weeks later. By then I knew what he really was. Who he really was. He wasn't a hero, he wasn't a savior of the innocent, he was a _monster_. He told me everything, like that somehow made it better. Every bit of Hydra rhetoric he knew, that 'order from chaos' really meant 'freedom in slavery'… I unplugged his oxygen and slashed his IVs when he was sleeping."

You don't stop, don't get emotional, and don't look away from Steve's eyes, "His men saved him. They dragged me down the hallway to a hidden door I never even knew _existed_ , took me down flights and flights of stairs to a sub-basement I'd never imagined was there, and they handcuffed me to the wall, pinned my eyes open, and started their mental cleansing then and there. My grandfather's head of security, Silas, stopped it when he found out what they were doing… I left that night and, save for a few days when he did to me _exactly_ what you're doing now, I haven't set foot back inside that place since."

"His head of security saved you?"

"We'd been screwing off and on since I was 15." Your grandfather wasn't the only darkness in your past, just the one you blamed everything on, "Apparently that's worth something, even to Hydra. Don't think he wouldn't slit my throat in a heartbeat if my grandfather ordered it."

Steve nods, though the sadness in his eyes only deepens, "I knew we were asking too much, I didn't know-"

"I'll do what I can to save Clint's family on two conditions." You stun Steve with your declaration, "Number one- if he throws me in that conditioning machine again, you _put me_ _down_. I won't serve Hydra, and I won't live with that in my head." Steve opens his mouth to object, "And _Two_ \- I get to watch Bucky put a bullet in Pierce's brain. That is, if I don't kill him first."

He sits in stunned silence at the conviction in your voice, and he isn't alone. Part of you isn't even sure the words _are_ yours. The pillar of strength that holds you up is little more than a toothpick trying to hold up a crumbling building, but it's made of something you didn't think you possessed anymore- a pure force of will that you know will keep you moving, even when the rest of you crumbles to dust.

"Deal." Bucky steps out of the hallway leading back up into the facility.

"How will you get into the house? We'll have to sit down and-"

"I know my way in," you keep your focus locked on Steve, "all I need you to do is tell me where we are-"

"Wakanda." Bucky answers again.

"Then I'll need a ride _back_ to the United States. I don't really care where you drop me, just _not_ Virginia. I'll make my way there and leave enough of a trace to make Hydra happy."

Bucky nods, "We'll follow you when it's safe and find a way to communicate with you. All you have to do is find Laura and the kids. Once you do, we'll figure out a way to get them back." He still doesn't trust you, you can see it in his eyes, but you really don't need him to. You'll do it, you _know_ you'll do it. He'll figure that out eventually.

Steve clears his throat, studies you, and finally nods, "When do you want to leave?"

"Now," you grind your teeth a moment, the first nervous twitch you've shown, "before I come to my senses."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Trigger Warnings: None  
**

 **Chapter 5**

 _How the fuck did they talk me into this?_

You can't stop the shakes, as usual, but you know it isn't just withdrawal behind the fidgeting, toe-tapping, headache, and knotted stomach. You blew you mind apart on drugs to forget the son-of-a-bitch existed, and now you're going straight back to him…

There was no way for any Avenger to accompany you on the bus, which _visibly_ put them on edge- the idea of handing _you_ money and letting you walk away. As soon as you stepped into the Nebraska bus station you _had_ to assume you were being watched. If you were going along with this goddam, half-assed scheme you wouldn't be tripped up by terminal security footage showing Captain America leading you to the ticketing booth. The Avengers just had to trust you to get on that bus to Vermont and aim for the family home.

Still, you wished _someone_ could have come with you, even Luis, who'd met the Quin-Jet with a ratty change of clothes for you to wear (the jerks in Wakanda washed yours so they were _way too clean_ for a recovering junkie). Luis seemed like a nice kind of guy- but again, you knew your story would be checked and Luis was _easily_ traced back to cell-mate Scott Lang, a known ally of Captain America. Hell, Google could make the connection.

The 24-hour bus ride was next to impossible, but the cab ride was hell.

You'd stood there with the door open long enough that the disgruntled driver threatened to leave without you. It was very nearly too much for you to just sit inside and tell him where you were going (naturally, he demanded the money up front). The Avengers were on their way, but they had to be careful to slip under Hydra radar, so for now it was only you.

Bucky could go fuck himself when he saw you'd actually kept your end of the mission.

"Turn left," you point down a narrow gravel road that vanishes at a bend in the trees, "I'll get out at the gate." Your voice is shaky and you feel sick. You can't stop wringing your hands and you haven't felt your heart beat so fast since detox. In that first week of withdrawal you though the cravings would drive you insane, now you're _positive_ they will. It's more than an addiction at this point. The very _idea_ of seeing your grandfather sends it into overdrive. You can't help it, it's pavlovian.

Just around the bend is a large marble-and-steel gateway. A tall fence runs the perimeter of the property- the same fence that worried Cap so much. You knew about the mines along the outside, the lazer-guided guns in each pillar along the fencing, and the tear gas that would be launched at anyone who came within ten feet. Who knew _what else_ Pierce had installed since you left?

 _Fort Knox… Home sweet home._

Two guards just inside the gate already have their hands on their guns when the cab comes to a stop.

"Thanks," you only have a small bag with a single change of clothing and a ratty notebook, and much quicker than you got into the cab, you exit it.

"You can't get out here," a guard snaps. He tries to wave down the cab, but the driver is already backing down the gravel path as he speeds away.

"I'm here to see Pierce," there isn't a chance in hell your shaking hands and knocking knees aren't going to give you away, so you don't bother hiding the fear in your voice.

The guards don't even blink, "There's no one here by that name, leave or you will be removed."

"Bullshit," you wince and rub your forehead as another lance of pain shoots through your skull, "Technically, _I_ own this house, not him. Tell Silas (Y/N) is here, unless you want to explain to Alexander Pierce why his granddaughter had to leave-?"

The gate opened immediately. As soon as you stepped out of the cab you knew cameras were watching and Silas' curious ear would be listening in. Your name _is_ your house key.

"Come with me, please," one guard waves you down the drive. It's a good thing they're Hydra, you feel like you're on the edge of a meltdown and the average security guard wouldn't know how to handle it. This one can smell fear a mile off. He guides you towards your childhood home gently, but there is no doubt that if you so much as stumble you _will_ be dragged in…

 _God, I need a fix…_

Around another bend the house becomes visible. It's a dark, sprawling, meticulously kept manor home. Trees have been cleared away to give it a large yard, but even in the cool fall there isn't a single leaf within the perimeter. White windows contrast the red brick and you are met with your own reflection from about ten different angles. As a child, Grandfather said it was protection from snooping goblins. As a teen, he said it was in case bad people came wandering through. Now you knew what it really was- a way to foil unprepared snipers. Protection for the monsters inside from the good guys.

 _Now I_ really _need a fix_ …

"What was that?" The guard turns his head.

 _Shit, I said that out loud,_ "Nothing."

He isn't too concerned with what you may or may not say. He escorts you to the door, knocks twice, and waits a step back. Another guard opens the door with a curt nod and waves you inside.

It's somehow harder to see the house like this- exactly as it had been when you were a child. The same flowers- lilies, your mother's favorite- in a bouquet on the round foyer table. The same old wooden clock in the corner, built by your great-great grandfather. You look into the parlor and see the grand piano you once played so deftly for your grandfather's dinner parties… That wouldn't be so melodic now that you could hardly control your fingers.

One layer of the house was for guests- immaculate, polished, and rich. Behind that though was _home_. Hallways here were canary yellow, painted in a weekend project by you and your grandfather five years ago. There are no grand portraits on the walls, just framed stick figure drawings done first by your mother, then by you as toddlers. Pictures of you, laughing and happy on birthdays, holidays, and sometimes just a day playing in the back yard…

You have to pause a moment to catch your breath. You honestly can't decide if you'll cry, have a panic-attack, or be sick. This was your idea of paradise once, now it's your idea of hell.

"Director Pierce is waiting for you in the living room," the guard prompts.

"I need a shot," you grumble and force yourself to move, "either of whiskey, meth, or in the skull." When you thought your grandfather was SHIELD it was easy to be proud of him. When he came home with two bullets in his chest and you learned the truth, that reality burned and took you right along with it.

Just ahead the double doors to the living room are wide open. You can already see a handful of goons- the living room must be packed with them. The Avengers are right, he's planning something.

You take a long, shaky breath, brace yourself, and step fully into the doorway. There are nearly two dozen agents gathered silently around. Silas watches you with the intensity of a hawk and a look of complete disdain. It used to intimidate you, but you've seen the ugly side of the world now, and Silas doesn't even make you nervous.

Nor does the man sitting beside him, if truth be told.

You spent so long thinking of Alexander Pierce as this all-powerful pillar of evil that you nearly made yourself forget about the laughter lines around his eyes, the open, honest face, and even the easy smile you two shared. Alexander Pierce, Grandpa- the man before you may be a monster, but he was so damn good at hiding it that just seeing him sitting there made you want to run to him and cry until he chases your demons away.

"(Y/N)," he looks as nervous as you feel, "you look-"

"Like shit, I'm aware." You bruise more easily, your bones stick out on your painfully thin frame, your eyes are sunken in their sockets and circled with dark bags, and you flash him a sarcastic smile to highlight the horror show that is your dental health- huge black holes, sharp, jagged remnants, inflamed gums- TV zombies don't look so horrible.

"Like shit," his agreement is gentle and incredibly pained, as though he can hardly bare seeing you like this, "Why- I mean, what-" he doesn't know how to ask why you've come without sounding dismissive, "You're… better?"

"I'm getting there," you chew your lip gently, nervous at the watching crowd, "can we talk?"

"Absolutely!" With a wave of his hand nearly every person in the room leaves. Silas keeps a guard back- a woman with long dark hair and the hard face of a killer, "How are you? I've missed you (Y/N), I've been so worried…" he seems sincere, but he seemed just as sincere when he told you he was one of the good guys.

"I'm… I'm here." You aren't sure what else to say.

"And you're clean?"

You nod, "Two weeks. It's not much-"

"It's a lot," hope shines naked on his face.

"Why did you come here?" Silas' tone is not unkind, but he is paid to get answers, he won't be delicate about it like Pierce, "Do you want money? Is someone after you?"

"Yes," honesty is your best shot with a man like Silas, "someone's been following me for a while now. On the streets, I can stay a step ahead, but if I'm living like that I can't stay clean. I'm barely holding on as it is, I won't make it much longer."

Your grandfather looks worried, "Who's following you? A dealer? Someone you owe money to?"

" _You_ ," you fix him with a cold glare, "I _want_ to stay clean, I _want_ to get my life back together, but I can't do that if every damn day I'm looking over my shoulder for your goons. I won't be dragged back to this place kicking and screaming, so I didn't have much choice. I'm dead if I stay out there, the meth will kill me, but if I want any chance at a life, I have to go through you first. If you want to throw me in some conditioning machine again, then fucking do it. I'm done running."

Until you actually say it out loud, you don't realize how true the words are. You _do_ need a chance, you _do_ need to face him. How much longer can you survive on the streets? A year? Optimistically? If you don't OD you'll die from disease or hunger or any number of side effects from the meth. The only way forward is through your grandfather. Dead or alive.

To his credit, Pierce actually stands up at the mention of 'conditioning'. He looks positively _miserable_ , "Cleansing? You think I would do that to my own granddaughter? My Bunny?"

The use of your pet name makes you want to puke, "It happened before."

"Against his orders," Silas reminds you.

"You were _furious_ when I refused to join. _You_ told _me_ you could make me see things your way. Yeah, your men threw me in the machine without your say-so, but you can't tell me it wasn't headed that way already." Your heart feels like it's going to explode, it's beating so hard.

"I only meant I'd persuade you," a tear falls down his cheek, "(Y/N), you mean more to me than anything else in this world. You're my _granddaughter_ , you're all I have left of your mother. I would _die_ before I let _anyone_ hurt you."

"I don't believe that." You shrug. It isn't something you'll ever let go of, no matter what your grandfather says.

"(Y/N)-"

"I can here so I could tell you in person that I want the chance to live openly. Agree or don't, I'm either walking out of this place of my own free will or as one of your soulless slaves. You choose." You turn from him to the door and actually make it as far as the handle before Silas' arm appears across both doors, "Slave it is." Silas shoots you a warning look and you turn back to Pierce.

His eyes hold only pity, "Wait, just- please." He comes to you. Your nose twitches into an involuntary snarl as he pulls you into a tight embrace, it makes your skin crawl.

"Are you _done_?" you ask stiffly.

He releases you for the most part, but his hands rest on your shoulder and he hesitates as it really sinks in how painfully frail you are. He grimaces, "What did you do to yourself (Y/N)?"

"Take a wild guess." Pierce opens and closes his mouth several times, but his hands stay lightly on the bones of your shoulders, "As fun as this is, I didn't come here for a reunion," you snap, "I came here to tell you I'm not hiding, now I'm leaving."

"Why now?" Silas keeps his arm across the doors.

"Why _not_ now?" You swat Pierce's hands aside and step away from your grandfather, "Nevermind, I really can't hear any more about what you monsters do for a living. I get that you've got a small army here, I don't give a shit." You shove Silas out of your way and yank open the door. You hesitate, your eyes locked on the pictures across the hallway of you and your grandfather, the smiling little family.

This is where you really have to sell it. You look back over your shoulder, "I ran out of money a few weeks ago. Blew a trucker for a ride and he ended up taking everything I had and leaving me on the side of the road. I walked for two days to a little town, but I couldn't find anyone to screw for a few bucks," your grandfather winces at the mentions of prostituting yourself, so you decide to give him the _real_ idea of what life on the street has been like, "Usually I can at least find a dealer for a quick bang behind a dumpster, but the guys there had a good system with some hookers, they didn't need it and the girls didn't want any freelancers on their turf…"

"I passed a church eventually, it was late, but there were people there. Late night meetings always have at least a cookie tray, so I went in. It was a Narcotics Anonymous meeting. They offered pizza to whoever stayed through the whole thing, so…" you take a deep breath, secretly loving the look of horror on your grandfather's face, "A woman there was with her son, she worked for a detox clinic a few towns over. We got to talking and-" you shrug, "they got me through the worst of it. I knew I couldn't stay clean in hiding, but I want it bad enough that I came here. Blew a few more truckers for bus and cab money, and here I am."

"The name of this detox clinic?" Silas asks.

"Not telling you that," it was the weak spot in your story, but you had figured out a way to cover that, "I told her my insurance card was in the hands of a Hydra sympathizer. I don't think she believed me, but she found a way to bury the cost of my treatment in the insurance of about twenty other people. I'm not going to let a good woman lose her job and freedom over me."

Your grandfather looks to Silas, who studies you a moment before nodding, "Agent Bishop?" the brunette woman comes to stand behind him, "Please take my granddaughter up to her room for the time being. Get her some clean clothes and food while Silas and I speak."

Agent Bishop nods and steps forward to lead you away. You don't budge, "Don't dick around. Let me go, or chain me up."

"Just give us a few minutes." There is no room for negotiation in Pierce's tone, "It won't be long, I promise." Silas jerks his chin and Bishop steps forward again. This time she grabs your arm and pulls you along towards the stairs with impressive force.

 _I did it. I'm in. I'm here… With Silas and Grandpa Pierce…_

Your legs give out halfway up the steps. Agent Bishop catches you and dumps you on a step impatiently, then starts when she sees your face. Whatever shit she thought you were pulling, it's very clear that this is no act. You're shaking harder than ever, you're white as a sheet, and your heart is racing even more out of control than it already was. A panic attack is setting in now that your grandfather is out of sight.

A guard in the hallway comes to see what's wrong, but Bishop waves him off. You can't hear anything she's saying, and you can't seem to get enough oxygen. You gasp and pant, scared as you feel the slight humming in your bones that signaled your last three seizures. This wasn't part of the plan.

Bishop smooths your hair gently as black spots dance across your vision. You hear the buzzing again and frantically dump the sparse contents of your bag on the steps. Bishop watches you for a moment, then grabs the notebook as your fingers finally find it. Your breathing becomes even more labored and you dig the nails of your left hand into your skull, hoping the pain brings you back.

She flips open the book and reads what is written on the page, then throws it to the hall guard. All you can do is hold on and _pray_ the increased Hydra presence also means a proper doctor is present.

When you left Wakanda your doctor, you, the Avengers, and the nurses all agreed you could not be trusted with the necessary prescriptions to treat your condition. Even the anti-seizure medication was too big of a risk given your history with pills. Unfortunately, that conflicted sharply with the withdrawal-and-stress-induced seizure disorder. Luis gave you your last dose before you got on the bus, but you were nearly ten hours overdue now. Your doctor could hardly write out paper prescriptions or forward your medical chart- it'd be kind of obvious then that you were in Wakanda- but he made damn well sure you were covered in case of an emergency, Hydra or no.

A hard-faced man arrives within moments with a needle in his mouth and a vial of something. He tosses an alcohol wipe to Agent Bishop and prepares the injection quickly. It's still an agonizing wait to see if the seizure can be held off. The buzzing and humming begins and stops several times before you finally slump on the steps, exhausted and weak. Agent Bishop holds one of your hands throughout the entire thing.

"Get her upstairs," the doctor directs both Bishop and the other guard, "put her in bed, I'll give this a look over and be up in a minute," he pulls your notebook out of his pocket.

Bishop and the guard each take an arm and you manage to stumble along as they walk. On the landing, you glance down just in time to see your grandfather and Silas look away. You don't know how long they were standing there, but you're willing to bet it was long enough to see the worst of it.

 _I'm in._

You were probably fine _before_ the almost-seizure, you'd given Pierce the right mix of sympathy and horror to tempt him, but there wasn't a chance in hell he'd let you leave now.

 _Useless my ass_. You hang your head and hide a weak smile, _Fuck you very much, Bucky Barnes._


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Trigger Warnings: None**

 **Chapter 6**

Your grandfather gives Doctor Johanssen an hour to go through your notebook once he's satisfied you're resting in stable condition. He waits alone as Silas' men run their checks and pick through security footage with the speed and precision that only truly gifted analysts possess.

Silas enters with the doctor exactly sixty minutes after being sent away, "Well? How is she?" Pierce is not shy about showing concern for you. Two years of following your cold trail made his care for you obvious to his subordinates already. You may be a weakness for him, but you certainly aren't a distraction from Hydra's master plan, so none mind.

Johanssen sighs, "Not great. She had a notebook with her that's basically a full copy of her chart- treatments, doses, reactions, notes, test results- but they were more concerned with getting her through withdrawal than actually caring for her. There are some signs they missed that present… _troubling_ possibilities. I'd like to run tests of my own before-"

"What did the chart show?" Pierce isn't about to let the doctor leave without telling him _exactly_ what he knows.

"Hallucinations, mood swings, mild hypothermia upon admittance- that's actually to be expected from prolonged abuse of methamphetamine. Once the seizures started they discovered a previously undisclosed tranquilizer addiction- they'd given her a sedative and it triggered some of the more violent symptoms of withdrawal. Regrettably the only thing surprising about that is that the doctor didn't assume she was taking more than one drug."

"Get to the part you don't want to tell me about."

Johansson flips through several pages of medical gibberish to a section he's marked, "I'll need to run more specific tests to know for certain, but there are markers in her blood work that, when considered with the severity and duration of other symptoms, suggests that (Y/N) is in the early stages of kidney failure and has significant damage to her heart. I can't know how bad it is until I take a look."

Silas sees Pierces' jaw clench, "The hospital she was in did not check this?"

"These tests, this chart- it's not the work of a fully licensed medical professional. They knew the tests to run and had a basic understanding of pharmaceuticals, but that's it. They were more concerned with getting her through the worst of withdrawal- and it certainly looks like she kept them on their toes the first few days- they had to perform emergency resuscitation three times."

"She said it was a detox clinic." Silas offered, "A nurse slipped her in and hid her treatment in other insurance bills."

"No accredited facility would handle a detox this badly." Doctor Johansson shrugs, "This was back-alley, probably a cause-crusader masquerading as a legitimate operation. They were effective, and they very well could be duping insurance companies into footing the bill, but even a public hospital would have done a more thorough workup."

Pierce glances to Silas, then turns his attention back to the doctor, "If your tests verify everything, what steps can you take to save her?"

"What steps am I _authorized_ to take?"

Your grandfather considers it for a long time, "Fix whatever you can within the scope of accepted medical practices… Fix the rest by any means necessary. You have my full permission to use Hydra resources."

"I will need her close by."

"How long?" Silas asks.

"Ideally? A couple of months."

"Done." Pierce nods to the doctor, "I'll buy you the time, you find as many cures as you can."

Doctor Johansson waits for Silas' curt nod before leaving.

"Now you," Pierce motions for Silas to take the doctor's place before him, "what have you found?"

"We traced her story back to Lincoln, Nebraska, where she boarded a Greyhound yesterday heading here. She approached the bus station on foot- ATM footage has her coming from the north. The oldest security footage we have of her is from about three hours prior to the bus leaving- she hopped a fence out of Wick's Sterling Trucks- a semi depot a couple blocks away from the station. She waited around until the bus boarded, the internal security camera has her sitting at the back the whole ride. Didn't eat, didn't drink, didn't sleep. I googled it- insomnia is a side effect of withdrawal, looks like she had it in spades."

Pierce locks his jaw again, "Reach out to the trucking depot and find out who she might have come in with, then find out how she got _there_ and so on and so forth. Follow the trail as far as you can. I want every last trucker, dealer, and back-alley pervert who touched her _dead_."

"What are the odds she's a mole?" Silas would be the one who determined that, but he wanted to see Pierce's reaction. The Director had never been in such a difficult position before, "We're close to victory, more of Hydra's upper echelon has gathered than ever before, the Winter Soldier is out of our control- not to mention the Avengers are _personally_ motivated to infiltrate this facility. _Especially_ considering what we took from the farm-"

Pierce shoots Silas a warning look, "If you find any evidence that (Y/N) is less than truthful, I will respond accordingly. Give her rope, see if she hangs herself. I expect you will find nothing, and I order you to do everything you can to prove me wrong."

"You might not like my methods."

" _Everything_ you can do to prove me wrong. I want there to be no doubt of her loyalty."

"Then I will do my best, sir."

There is no emotion in Silas' voice- neither resignation nor malice. It's why Pierce trusted him all these years- he never let personal emotions or feelings get in the way of what needed to be done. Pierce never knew about the affair between you and his chief of security, but even at the height of your passions, even as he made you moan and writhe beneath him, Silas would cut your throat mid-thrust if he was ordered to. That hadn't changed one bit.

It's a loyalty your entire plan hinges on.

* * *

You wake slowly from a fitful sleep. Your skin itches and crawls, but when you go to scratch at it, you don't feel anything.

"Not again," you groan, "not _fucking_ again."

"What's not happening again?" A woman's voice gives you pause. You open your eyes and see the most overwhelmingly familiar and deeply unsettling thing imaginable—

Your life.

Every last detail is as you remember. The pictures on the walls and tables of friends you hadn't thought about in years, the clothes hangers on your closet door from the day you _first_ left, the open blinds from the night you escaped. Books in languages you could now hardly recall sit on the desk to highlight your lost future as a virtuous SHIELD agent…

Two years as long as lifetimes had passed, but the room still stood as a time capsule to mock you. It was a caricature- a grotesque reminder of everything you were, everything you once could be, and everything you'd lost when you realized just how close the darkness was. SHIELD would never accept Alexander Pierce's blood within their ranks- even if they managed to slide back from the brink of extinction- that was one of the reasons you abandoned your life to the pills and drugs. Now, even if you succeeded in your mission, they would doubtlessly reject a junkie _before_ they got to the line about your grandfather.

"What's. Not. Happening. Again." Agent Bishop, sitting in a chair by your desk, rolls her eyes impatiently as you gape around the room.

"W- what? Oh- the bindings-" you look down at your hands and jump. They aren't restrained at all- someone's covered them in soft white gloves held on by zip-ties. Your forearms are covered in scabs- most from thin scratches, but a few are deeper and clearly bled more.

"You kept saying your skin was burning or that you had to get 'them' out, whatever that means." Agent Bishop sighs, "I had some gloves brought up to make my life easier. You pulled them off, so I secured them."

"I don't remember…"

"Not surprised. You're coming down pretty hard, the blackouts can't be new."

You eye Agent Bishop wearily, and she sizes you up just the same. It isn't like you could overpower her to escape- not in this condition- but she looks ready for a fight. No doubt she heard of your last escape from this place. You don't even know if that agent survived the injection you gave him, and frankly you don't care. Besides- not that she would ever know- but you weren't planning on escaping any time soon, not without Laura Barton and her kids.

"Agent Bishop to Lieutenant Kent," Bishop presses a button on her earpiece to address Silas, "(Y/N) is awake." She waits a moment, "Director Pierce will be up in a few minutes."

"Thank you, by the way," you try, "for getting the doctor. Didn't really feel like pissing myself on the hardwood."

"Wouldn't have happened. Seizure or no, you're too dehydrated." You watch Bishop's response closely, but her face is a mask of contempt. You _know_ you saw a twinge of sympathy, just a hint of a gentler side when you were on the stairs, but now she's back to the cool, hard detachment she had when you met with your grandfather.

"What's your problem?"

"My problem?" Bishop raises an eyebrow, "My _problem_ is that today I received an assignment I've been gunning for since I got here and now, instead of working on it, I'm babysitting you."

"Which is the highest honor you can imagine and you will give it just as much care as you would have 'Project: Cadmus'." Pierce snaps from the doorway.

Bishop immediately freezes. Her eyes go wide and the color vanishes from her face. She stands and quickly bows her head as your grandfather enters, "My most sincere apologies, sir. I did not mean to suggest-"

He waves her off, "Your background is mercenary, not Hydra, so you're more used to picking your missions than _real_ Agents. See, _real_ Agents follow orders, and they may not relish one assignment over the other, but they do it without complaint. As for 'Cadmus'- congratulations, you're off the project for good. Make no mistake, there are _hundreds_ of qualified _Agents_ who can take your place and who would _love_ a crack at the subjects. Now sit down, shut up, and listen." She obeys, looking lost and defeated.

"You had better be here-"

"You'll be quiet too," your grandfather sits hard on the side of your bed and you immediately pull your feet up and away from him. He eyes the gloves for a moment, "The doctor who treated you, did he happen to mention you are dying?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Kidney failure, heart damage- you weren't going to survive much longer out there."

He's studying your eyes, and while a cold shiver goes through you at the certainty in his voice, you're surprisingly unphased by what he's saying. It disappoints you, certainly, you always imagined that if someone told you you were dying you would… well… _care_. Instead, you almost feel lighter. The real disappointment would come if it turned out to be a hoax slipped into your chart, "He failed to mention that."

"He wasn't a real doctor either," Pierce pressed. You just shrug. The Wakandan doctor and his staff worked on that notebook for several hours. If they wanted Hydra scientists to think it was written by a quack, you weren't going to disagree.

"I don't _care_ if he was or not. His job was to dry me out. He did that.

"What's your plan? Say I let you leave here, what then?"

"Find a job, I don't care what. Make money, start to put my life back together- or as close to 'together' as I can get before I die." You look away, out through the glass of the balcony doors. It's dark already, "Or, since apparently that's not as far off as I was hoping, find a dealer and get one last dose… go out with a bang." Getting clean wasn't your choice, and while you'd warmed to the idea, the temptation was much closer than you wanted to admit. Did the Avengers know? Did they keep your real condition a secret so you'd help them, or was Hydra making all of this up?

Pierce sizes you up for a few minutes as he keeps studying your face, looking for either a fault in your reaction or some sort of tell. The Avengers didn't leave him anything to find. At last, he sighs and relaxes slightly, "That's not going to happen." You look up at your grandfather, "I'm not letting my daughter's legacy- _my legacy_ \- end with a syringe and a pool of vomit. I don't care if you die a paper-pusher sorting mail in some basement, it will be when you're older than I am now and you will be _clean_ when it happens."

"You don't have much say in it."

"No, but _you_ do, and we're going to make a deal. You want to be free of me? You want to walk out of here and make a life? Fine. Withdrawal lasts up to three months. You say you've been clean two weeks?" you nod, "If my doctor verifies that, then you only have to stay here two and a _half_ months. If not, it's the full three. You undergo any test and take any treatment my doctors prescribe, no matter how unpalatable they may be. They _can_ and they _will_ put your body back together, I've given them authorization to use any means necessary. You will undergo daily drug tests, just to make sure you stay clean."

"Daily tests? Where the hell do you think I'd find _meth_ in here?" You're _actually_ confused at that condition.

"Not in here," Pierce looks over to Agent Bishop, "outside. You will be allowed one trip out each week, more the further you progress in your treatment. Agent Bishop here will be your 'Sober Companion'. Her job will be to accompany you, watch you, and keep you safe. Upon re-entry you will be scanned and tested for _any_ substance abuses. I want to know that when you leave here for good you won't just go straight back to a dealer."

"Why would I agree to any of that?" Your tone is defiant, but the fact of the matter is you would _happily_ agree to it. The Avengers were coming, but in truth they didn't expect to see you until you were leading Laura Barton and her children out of the base. If it was possible for you to make _weekly_ contact? It was an offer far too good to refuse.

Your grandfather looks down at his hands and sighs, "The first Will I made said that when I died, everything would pass to your mother with the exception of $100,000 to be set aside in a trust for you. Now, the Will leaves everything to you without any conditions. Take this deal- let me save your life and prove to me that you _want_ to get over this- and you will get that $100,000 every single year you stay clean until I die and my entire estate becomes yours. Fall off the wagon, or get addicted to something new, and you'll find out exactly what happens when I have someone conditioned. You'll become property of Hydra. We're always in the market for more Assets."

"So, you won't let me die a druggie, but you'll let me die a mindless zombie? That's somehow better for your precious _legacy_?" You raise an eyebrow. In truth the deal is more perfect than you could ever imagine. He was willing to play straight into the Avengers' hands, and he was making it _easier_ for you to complete your own mission! The inheritance comment was a cute gesture, but Steve told you a little of what your grandfather did to Bucky- you had no doubt you'd get the full estate long before that first $100,000…

"Once you're pacified you can be bred," Silas appears in the door frame and you feel goosebumps flash across your arms. "Or before, I'm not sure if the process might have a negative impact on fertility… The doctors will have to look into that."

"I'd rather have one disappointing generation than see my family line and all of this fade into oblivion because of _your_ weakness." Pierce had looked to Silas when he spoke, but now he turns back to you.

You gape at your grandfather, "So my choice is to take the deal, or be _bred_?"

"Not at all, it's stay _clean_ or be bred."

" _What are you_?" You shake your head, "What kind of sick freak are you?"

"Don't forget, all you have to do to live a perfectly safe and normal life is stay clean," that care and concern is gone from his eyes now. All you see is a darkness you could _never_ recognize, "I'm not asking much, I'm just providing incentive."

"What if I decide to never have children?" You're arguing impossibilities- the Avengers will kill Pierce before winter is over, but it's hard to remind yourself of that now.

"That's your choice," he shrugs, "if you're clean. If not- it's out of your hands."

It's small consolation that Agent Bishop looks just as disgusted and horrified as you feel, though she's doing better at suppressing it than you are.

"Your answer is expected _now_ ," Silas smiles.

You want to throw up. It takes several hard breaths before you trust yourself enough to speak, "I'll stay here for two months, not a day longer… But one day _everything_ you've done will catch up to you, and I will do everything in my power to be here when SHIELD or the Avengers or _whoever_ puts a bullet between your eyes. Both of you." You glare up at Silas.

"Good choice," Pierce pats your knee and you recoil further, then gets up to leave. "If you're serious about staying clean, you have nothing to concern yourself with. If you aren't… Well, all I'm doing is making sure you know how invested I am in your future. I'll settle for a dead daughter and mindless granddaughter if you force my hand, but then _I_ get a great-grandchild who will hopefully prove less of a disappointment. It's all up to you."

With that he stands and walks out of the room, Silas in tow. Bishop looks from the door to you a few times, stunned. She looks away from you to the wall and her eyes fall on a pair of scissors. She stands up and pulls them from your pen holder with a sign, then comes and cuts the zip ties on your wrists. You push the gloves off quickly and rub at your arms. You're staring at the spot on the bed where your grandfather sat and you realize after a moment you've begun to rock slowly.

Agent Bishop immediately gets up and returns the scissors to their proper place before going to your closet and pulling a blanket down from the top shelf. She wraps it around your shoulders and sits by your side as you rock and try to remind yourself the Avengers plan on slaughtering every last person inside the property line as soon as possible.

That idea that you're surrounded by living corpses does little to help cheer you up.

* * *

"That was going too far," Pierce grabs Silas and throws him against the wall of the downstairs hallway. He puts an arm across his throat and applies just enough pressure to make sure Silas knows how easily he could be killed, " _Breeding_ her? You're lucky if I don't have _you_ cleansed!"

"You were floundering. You want to flush out whoever she's working with? That's how we do it- put pressure on her and keep turning the screws."

"And if she really _is_ just here for the sake of getting her life back and your little test throws her right back onto the streets?"

"Then at least you know she wasn't working against you." Silas rasps as Pierce puts even more pressure on his throat.

Your grandfather releases him- then promptly punches him hard enough to knock the lanky man to the floor, "You don't improvise like that again- I won't back you next time. You've served this family faithfully for thirty years, but don't think your position here is _ever_ safe. Flushing out her associates is one thing, threatening to have her _raped_ and forced to give birth? That's beyond even what Hydra tolerates. Don't you _dare_ try anything like that again, or I'll hand you over to the torturers until you're a hollow shell- _then_ I'll kill you personally."

"Understood, sir." Silas rubs his jaw from the floor as Pierce storms away. As soon as your grandfather turns the corner his hand falls and a smile slowly spreads across his thin lips. He shoots a glance up the stairs as though he can will himself to see you up in your room.

You'll get a few day trips in, it's necessary for his plan to work, but when the time is right he'll make damn well sure you never leave again. If you have allies- if you're only here to stop Hydra's resurgence- it won't change what's coming for you.

Even the Avengers themselves won't be able to save you once Silas' trap is sprung.


	7. Chapter 7

I'd like to take a moment at the start and dedicate this chapter to those who have left harassing reviews because of the X-Reader nature of this fic. While it is true that there is an arcane byline in the FF guidelines against it, there are also **over 5,000 X-Reader's on this site**. For those of you who sent me PMs asking about it- **none** of these trolls are admins, just pathetic authoritarian-fetishists, and they've been harassing users for YEARS.

I know a lot of you have already reported these reviews as spam (since it's obvious they never read anything) or as harassment, and greatly appreciate the support :)

And to ReaderMe (a guest reviewer, so I cannot reply to them directly)- Your review was very sweet and, as for everyone's reviews, I appreciate it! You mentioned that you're venturing out of AO3 to FF, but if you decide you want to remain with AO3, I just wanted to let you know that I also have a profile there (and on DA) under the same username, so you can always read TSYS there too :)

Ever since the explosive popularity of my "Project: Echo" trilogy I've been posting to a few different platforms because of requests from different people to make my work more easily accessible :)

 **So, TL;DR:** TSYS and I aren't going anywhere, and I invite you to join me in reporting the reviews as spam :)

And now, to the chapter!

* * *

 **Chapter Trigger Warnings: None, but there's dental stuff (removing teeth, drilling, stuff like that) and I know that grosses some people out. If you can't/don't want to read, just PM me and I will send you an edited copy of the chapter :)**

 **Chapter 7**

"Ok now, open up…" Dr. Johanssen hovers over you with a wicked looking needle. You've kept your end so far- given him as much blood as he wants, gone through every test and scan- but you don't trust the sheer _size_ of that thing- especially not since Agent Bishop looks just as nervous as you! She's by your side now, her hand on your shoulder even though her face is pale, "Stop looking at me like that, you're making (Y/N) nervous." He chides, "Aren't you supposed to be a professional?"

"I don't like mouth stuff."

"This is just Novocain." He holds the needle for you to see- as if he hasn't explained all of this already, "We can skip it if you _really_ want, but you won't like the next bit." He nods to a tray of pliers and something covered in white cloth. You stare at it a long time before slowly opening your mouth, " _Thank you_." Agent Bishop squeezes your shoulder as he leans in.

It's not like you didn't know this would happen- of everything the drugs did to you, dental was probably the _easiest_ thing to fix- but you hardly expected surgery first thing in the morning after a fitful night. X-Rays confirmed your teeth were as horrible as they looked. Beyond removing the remains, Johanssen had been cagey about how he planned to fix them. Your whole body shook as he stuck the needle into your gums- and this time withdrawal had little to do with it.

One thing you are willing to say in Johanssen's favor- he's quick. It's far from pleasant, but if you're being perfectly honest, you _have_ felt much worse pain. You look up at Bishop once the injection is finished- her head is turned away.

 _Some mercenary._

You run your tongue over the injection sites as your mouth goes numb, "When does the dentist come?"

"I'm your dentist." Johanssen raises and eyebrow and prepares another needle.

"Wishful thinking." You open again. This time you feel a soft, steady pressure, but whatever he gives you soon takes even that away.

As the drugs settle in, he puts an IV into your arm and Bishop releases her grip, "Why don't you sit down before you faint, Agent?"

"I've killed, pulled out fingernails, cut off eyelids- and other body parts, broken bones, skinned, burned, water boarded, drowned, and done things with dry ice you don't even want to _think_ about," she shudders and goes to a chair against the wall of the doctor's lab, "I _don't do_ mouth stuff…"

"Don't worry, I won't tell. Your image is safe." He flashes her a patronizing smile. "Alright, there's no pleasant way to pull out teeth, so let's get started."

He's rougher than you'd like, but quick. He fits a leather strap around your forehead to hold you in place, grabs a vice grip, and pulls for all it's worth. There's no pain- beyond the straining of your head against the strap- but it makes you sick to your stomach and it's all you can do to keep from heaving. Blood drips from your mouth, the sounds disgust you, and at one point your eyes find Agent Bishop plugging her ears and staring hard at the floor.

This isn't how any dentist would remove teeth. You breathe deeply and try not to think about it as he works- there's no turning back anyways… Still, it's not a level of stress you needed, nor is it one you want to handle. Whatever is in the IV keeps you calm _enough_ , but you can't let yourself think about what he's doing. You picture the Avengers- remind yourself _why_ you're here. Your mission is your mission- you're the only one who can secure Laura Barton and her children…

"All done with that." Johanssen is covered with a sheen of sweat. He's a fit man, but pulling teeth is hardly easy work, "There are fragments of root and of course tissue damage, some nerve endings were torn… but no matter. This will clean everything up."

"What will?" your words don't form quite right- your tongue is numb and, of course, you just had at least a dozen teeth ripped out the rough way.

"First, I need to put a bite guard in your mouth- to make an imprint. We will do top and bottom simultaneously."

"But I'm bleeding-"

"Which of us has a medical degree?"

"Neither of us has a _dental_ degree."

"Shut up and open up, we're past the hard part." He pulls the white cloth off of the thing on the table. It's just out of your line of sight, thanks to the leather band on your forehead. Doctor Johanssen eyes you for a moment, "OK, this will be a difficult fit, so I want you to open wide… Wider… Wider-"he slaps a hand over your eyes and shoves the thing into your mouth, "Breathe through your nose," Johanssen begins poking around at your cheeks, moving the thing into place and checking it over. You glare at him fiercely, wishing you could feel what he just shoved into your face.

"What the hell is that?" Agent Bishop gets up and comes closer, "That's not-"

"You'll want to step out for this part, Agent Bishop." Johanssen eyes her.

"My job is to watch (Y/N) at all times. That's what I'm doing." She crosses her arms.

"Very well. This part will take about an hour." He picks up something on the table- a small remote- and holds it up so you can see, "One… two… three-"he presses a small button on the front.

You hear a series of _clicks_ and feel a surge of pressure in your mouth. It doesn't hurt- but it feels like you have a particularly dense apple wedged there. After a moment, Johanssen flicks the leather strap off of your forehead and tips you forward slightly. He slides a bowl under you and you watch as blood begins to drip steadily down.

"That will stop in ten minutes or so." You hear a humming, mechanical noise from the device. "Right now, it's digging out fragments of tooth and-"something _clanks_ into the bowl- a sliver of tooth, "-there's one- then it will repair the damage done and fill the sockets with a layer of nanite technology. Once that's been completed I will remove the device and put these in-"he holds up a small retainer-like object with a full set of teeth- roots included. "They will simply plug in, and then the nanites will install them completely within four hours. During that time you cannot eat, and you should not drink through a straw."

Agent Bishop actually came closer- though she made a point of looking at the teeth and not you, "Hydra has synthesized teeth?"

"No, Stark Industries does." Doctor Johanssen seemed pleased, "Director Pierce ordered me to try _normal_ means first. This is a newly developed line of quick-healing technology. Tony Stark has taken enough hits and lost enough teeth that at this point I wouldn't be surprised if his entire mouth is nano-teeth. For once he's been useful to us."

You hit Agent Bishop on the leg and wave your hand around vaguely. She gets the message, "And how much pain is (Y/N) going to be in once this is done?"

"Not much." Johanssen flashes another grin, "I told the cook to prepare steak for dinner. The technology is beyond your understanding- it's beyond _my_ understanding- but evidently Stark doesn't like to be inconvenienced. It will be tender for a few hours, but the Novocain will wear off long _after_ that's passed."

More pieces of tooth fall out- remnants of the ones that rotted away. You stare down at them miserably, then look up far enough to see Johanssen's face as you flip him off. Your grandfather said you would have to endure _unpalatable_ procedures- you didn't realize he meant _horrific_.

Johanssen stays to watch over the procedure until the blood ceases to drip, then he gives you a type-and-talk device and vanishes into a far corner of his lab to work on his tests. Agent Bishop brings the chair over from the wall and sits down next to you, "It's going to be over soon enough," she glances at a clock, "less than an hour."

You can't get a read on this woman. When you first walked in (Jesus, was it only yesterday?) she was cold and aloof. When she helped you on the stairs, she was softer and almost _kind_. When you woke up in bed she was cold and aloof again, but ever since Silas and your grandfather's threat, she was back to a kinder mindset. You'd taken "Cadmus" from her, whatever the hell that was (you suspect it's what has the Avengers so worried), but she seemed to be coming to terms with that not being _entirely_ your fault.

"What's your deal?" The voice of the laptop is a bit jarring, but it gets the job done.

"What do you mean?"

"You were a mercenary?"

"I was."

"Now you're Hydra?"

"I am." She sighed, "You're asking why I joined?" You nod slightly. "Well, I guess it's because… On one side of the playing field you had SHIELD, on the other you had Hydra. Both sides were trying to rebuild their ranks. With the Accords there's been an unprecedented rise in vigilante killings of my kind- you need an umbrella to stand under. Between SHIELD and Hydra- it wasn't even a choice. I've always liked picking my own missions, choosing things that challenge me and force me to improve my technique." She shrugs, "I found that even the criminals with the blackest hearts sometimes have the purest intentions- and Hydra is no different. I had to choose a side, so I chose one that I already favored."

 _Liar_. You can see something in her eyes- something you didn't notice before…

You decide to pursue it, "What did you say earlier? About what you've done to people?"

Agent Bishop thinks back, "Just general torture, I suppose. Nothing too special- it's in the application of the techniques after all. Skinning, burning, using ice, using drugs, water-boarding, electroshock- I don't think I mentioned that one, it's easier to watch- broken bones, general beatings… Oh, and pulling out nails, amputations- just… basic stuff."

It was there again. As long as you could remember, you were good at spotting lies. Being on the streets took that to a nearly super-power level. Bishop could probably pass even Silas' inspection, but she wasn't being entirely truthful.

"And you're happy to serve Hydra?"

"I'm honored to." Agent Bishop smiles.

"Agent-" you scrunch up your nose and look to her.

Once again, she understands you in spite of the limitations, "Agent _Kate_ Bishop. You can call me Kate or Bishop, I don't care."

You nod and file the information away for whenever you and the Avengers make contact. Kate Bishop… She's not Avengers- at least not the wing of the Avengers _you're_ allied with- but she isn't Hydra, you're about 75% sure of that. So what is she? _Who_ is she? You doubt they'll find her in any system- if she were Pierce would know before she'd crossed the property line- but she was an Agent of someone's, that's for sure.

 _I'm not the only one who's infiltrated the compound…_

 _My mission is Laura Barton and her children- so what the hell is her's?_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Trigger Warnings: None :)**

**Thank you all for your patience, I know this new chapter is more than a week overdue. I injured my back and couldn't be at my computer for a while. Another new chapter will be posted tomorrow :) **  
**

 **Chapter 8**

 _Did you know he was a monster?_

You toss a knotted sliver of grass.

 _Were_ you _a monster too?_

You pick another and begin to carefully tie it. Your game is to see how many times your shaking hands can knot each blade of grass before it breaks or you simply give up. Your record, so far, is three.

You lean against your mother's tombstone in the small private cemetery around the back of the property. It lies at the edge of the tree line, just in sight of the main house, but barely. Agent Bishop is inside somewhere, meeting with your grandfather about _you_. It isn't like it matters, even in the shadow of the wall you can't go anywhere without being caught on at least three cameras.

No one ever told you how your parents died, not really. Just that it was "On a mission". _A mission for who_? You never wondered until you found out exactly what your grandfather was. _Were they both Hydra too?_

You don't remember them, but it never bothered you. You were three when it happened, whatever _it_ was, and by all accounts you were mostly raised by nannies anyways. You were taken from your home and brought to Pierce, to this house, where you lived through every level of schooling- even college.

 _Maybe, when all of this is over, I could go back and finish my degree…_

You throw another knotted blade of grass. What would you do with that degree? Criminal Justice? You did that to become a SHIELD agent- you did _everything_ to become a SHIELD agent, only to find out that all the while the rhetoric you were spoon-fed wasn't SHIELD, it was Hydra. Yes, you wanted to keep the world safe. Yes, you were raised to believe that complete freedom was the great evil of this world- but you thought that was _metaphorical_ , not literal. The line between SHIELD and Hydra was a fine one, the width of a single hair, but it was a line you were _never_ crossing…

But did they? Did your parents?

You twirl yet another blade of grass between your fingers and reach up to gently rub your jaw. It's all pins and needles as the nanites finish their work. The worst part of it is over and the contraption is gone from your mouth, but still… It's been a long time since you had a mouth full of teeth- synthetic as they are. Hydra gave you these. _Hydra_.

When you left, when you threw yourself up the wall in a mad scramble and rolled the dice that Pierce would shut down the security system rather than risk harming you. You thought you could hide until you stopped seeing the lights dancing before you, and stopped hearing the voice whispering in your ear, telling you how much better it could all be if you'd just _comply_. From there you would do whatever it took to find SHIELD, if any organized group still survived. If not, surely Hydra didn't get _everyone_ , you could wander around the Triskellion, find other agents who were lost, and rally them back together. Worst-case scenario, you stood outside of Avengers Tower until Captain America came down to tell you to fuck off… If anyone knew where SHIELD went, surely it'd be him.

That wasn't in the cards, though. You were so disoriented, so lost, you took shelter haphazardly just to be safe as your mind was swimming. Then the pills to take the edge off. Then you were caught by Silas… And then something newer, more toxic, and more addicting.

Now here you are, right back where it all started like the last two years never happened. Teeth and all. You sit upon the empty grave of two people who were more likely evil than good, and yet to your heart it is as much a comfort as it ever was. Two years wasted, for this one chance to put it all right. To repair what your family has wrought on the world.

You sit there, staring at your hands, and try to make sense of it all. What you've lost, what you can gain from all of this, where your future might lie. You are nearly lost in thought when the moth touches down on your knee. It's a large one, and a bit of a surprise, so early in the afternoon. It's a great gray creature, slightly larger than a butterfly, with a body as fat as a caterpillar's. It sits on your leg for a while, it's wings out to soak in the warm sun.

You find solace in studying the patterns on the wings. Swirls of a burnt red and khaki mixed with brown. The fur on its weird body rustles slightly in the breeze. As you watch it, you begin to notice small changes in the color- a deeper red within the brown, a gray in the khaki- colors you can just barely see. The moth takes wing and flutters down on your shoulder. You study it more intensely now that it's closer, and you're shocked to find the swirls and changes in color form barely legible words:

HAND. GROUND. NOW.

You obey, incredulous, and slowly lower your hand so that the palm touches the ground. The moth remains in its position, but you feel something under your fingers- a tingling in the soil itself. Under the shelter of your hand, you feel the earth fall away and the decidedly _unpleasant_ sensation of something _crawling_ on you. Something with way too many legs. Way too many _big_ legs.

A spider.

A motherfucking spider.

You freeze, locking your muscles as it crawls beneath your hand. It feels big- but maybe that's just because you _hate_ spiders and it's taking every ounce of your self-control not to run screaming. Slowly, you turn your other palm over and stare hard at it. Based on where you're feeling the tingling, you estimate the spider's _body_ is roughly the size of a quarter, but its legs reach to the edges of your palms.

It runs around beneath your hand for a disgusting amount of time before you see a jet black body run along the edge of your leg and vanish into the grass. Then, that little bit of tingling turns into a LOT of it. You look down at the Bug-Hand and see ants spilling from around it. The moth is still on your shoulder, it's wings still out with their message, so you hold, promising yourself that if even one of those things starts running up your arm, you are _out_.

You feel something cold touch your hand, then a second something. Whatever they are, they are _hard_. As soon as both objects are touching you, the tide of ants ebbs and vanishes. The moth flaps its wings and flutters onto the top of your head.

You take that as permission to move and slowly turn the Bug-Hand towards your leg so you may peak at whatever is down there. The spider left a thick web, and now stuck in that web is a small black thing roughly the shape of a jellybean and very close in size, and a small silver battery.

 _No. Fucking. Way._

You see a slot on the black device that the silver will fit into and carefully clean off the webbing from both pieces. It takes several tries to get the battery inside, but when you do the slot slides closed. You know what to do now, even though it makes your skin crawl.

You rub the black device against your leg. Once you are ready, you do your best to turn it over without anyone watching knowing that you were looking at something other than a pebble. The moth suddenly takes flight and runs into your head several times, battering your ear and the side of your head. You swat (gently) at it a few times before you realize what the crazy thing is doing- it's giving you cover. When you next raise your hand to swat it away, you slip the black device into your ear. As soon as it's secured, the moth shoots up and begins to flap around in a disorganized pattern, as thought whatever was holding it in thrall has let go.

"Told you this was a good idea." A soft voice can just barely be heard, "Can't smuggle in electronics, smuggle them in in pieces."

"I thought the suit could only control ants?"

"Common misconception, Sam."

You pick a blade of grass and bite your lip. As you look down to concentrate on tying it, your hair slides forward to hide your mouth from any security cameras, "Spiders freak me out, just for future reference."

Sam's laugh is audible, "Hey (Y/N)! Boss wants to talk to you, give me a sec and I'll pass the mic over!" You met Scott _once_ before you left Wakanda, in a group meeting with the Avengers to familiarize you with all of them for this mission. Scott- the bug guy.

Steve's voice cuts in next, a little louder and clearer than his companions, "(Y/N), how are you doing?"

"I haven't heard about Laura or the kids yet, but it's only been a day. I'm working on it."

"That's nice, but I asked how you're doing."

"Pierce and Silas have welcomed me in, but they're doing everything they can to verify my story."

"That's nice, but _I asked how you're doing_."

"I managed to get weekly outings, Pierce is accepting me back on a sobriety-clause. I might be able to report in per-"

" _(Y/N),_ " Steve sounded patient, if not slightly exasperated, "when you agreed to do this for us, you became a member of our team, as much as any Avenger. Mission updates can wait. _How. Are. You._ That's what I'm asking."

You are silent for a moment. You knew that was the case, but you were rather hoping he would drop it. You felt a sting of betrayal that you were hesitant to admit. Now it felt like he was holding a spotlight to your face and forcing you to answer.

"Did you know? What the medical tests showed?" There is no answer, "My grandfather said I was dying. Is that true?"

"Yes," eventually, it's Sam's voice that comes through, "The doctor figured it out before you snapped out of the hallucinations."

"Oh." It's all you can think to say. It's all that _needs_ to be said.

"We didn't want to-"

"It's fine." You cut Steve off.

"No, you need to hear this." Sam's tone is gentle, but forceful.

"The mission comes first." You take a deep breath and swallow hard, "Someone else infiltrated the compound. Mid 30s to early 40s, brunette, she's posing as some mercenary but I'm willing to be that's a lie. She calls herself Kate Bishop. Just thought you should know."

Steve begins to talk again, but you raise your hand to brush your hair behind your ear and in the process flick out the small communication device. You feel around the edge of it until you find a small catch, then flick it open and remove the silver battery. They go in separate pockets, and you lean back against the tombstone once more.

You feel short of breath, like the world kept spinning on and now you are barely holding onto the skin of it. If you let go, if you give in, then you'll go flying off and be left behind in space. Everything is moving too fast and too slow at the same time, and you are lost somewhere in the middle.

Another moth comes from the direction of the fence. It's smaller than the first, but it flies with a purpose. You sigh as it lands on your shoulder and try to brush it away, but each time you do the moth simply flutters up and lands again. Finally, you turn to look at it, tired and sad. There is a new message written in the swirls of color this time, and it's one that makes you smile ever so slightly-

STEVE'S KIND OF A DICK.

* * *

You will never know, but the Avengers' caution in the graveyard likely kept you from blowing your own cover. As Silas, Agent Bishop, Doctor Johanssen, and your grandfather meet in the library, they sit within sight of a television sporting a live security feed of _you_.

"Agent Bishop will report first." Pierce casts a steely blue gaze over to the woman.

"Sir?"

"You have been watching my granddaughter for nearly 24 hours. Have you observed any _questionable_ behavior?"

Bishop shakes her head, "Nothing significant. After your _ultimatum_ she never truly calmed down enough to sleep before Johanssen took her." Bishop allows a twinge of disapproval in her gaze- not enough to set Pierce off, but enough to make her position known.

He sees it, but ignores her, "What did you see that is _insignificant_?"

"When she initially woke, she seemed to think she was bound. She said 'Not again'."

Silas and Pierce look to Doctor Johanssen, who is unconcerned, "Her scans did show signs that (Y/N) was likely held in standard hospital restraints for a prolonged period- likely a week or so. Don't worry, she wasn't anyone's prisoner. Between her seizures, hallucinations, and a few noted manic outbursts in her notebook, I would probably have advised the same."

"You've completed your examination of her?" Doctor Johanssen nods to Pierce, "And you are confident in the results? Enough for a report?"

"I am, but you won't like it."

"Will my disapproval change anything?" He shakes his head, "Then just tell me."

"Bad news first then." Johanssen hands a tablet to Pierce with copies of the scans, "Life-threatening and long-term issues were prioritized. Scans show her heart isn't just damaged, it's heading for complete failure within _months_. Same with kidney and liver- I'm betting she's had more than her fair share of toxic batches. This is more damage than she should have after two years, this is something you'd expect after five or more. She's suffered permanent brain damage. I have a call out to a neurologist who specializes in methamphetamine addictions to verify, but I do believe it won't get any _worse_ , if (Y/N) is serious about her sobriety. Fine motor skills and judgement will always be impaired, she may have auditory and visual hallucinations, and sooner or later manic paranoia will manifest."

"How could you tell that one?" Silas mumbles.

"She's hallucinating?" Agent Bishop looks to the monitor where you are under assault by an impressively large moth.

"Nothing sophisticated," Johanssen confirms, "she won't be seeing people, but she may flinch from or strike out at nothing, and don't be surprised if she starts talking to herself. She won't be seeing people who aren't there or having voices tell her to kill or anything like that, but she will never be quite right."

Silas glances to his employer. Pierce looks pained, "Johanssen, before we get into treatments, do you have any _good_ news?"

The doctor hesitates, "Well, it's all relative, but… I've used new Stark technology to repair her teeth already, she should be recovered by dinner. Tests came back negative, but just in case, I also gave her medications to combat HIV. I will run the tests again in a couple of weeks, just to be sure. Other good news- scans indicated that she is not and has never been pregnant."

Pierce rubs his eyes, "So your definition of good news is that she doesn't have AIDS and has not birthed a meth-baby?"

"Basically? Yes."

Bishop sighs, "And treatment options for everything in the 'bad news' category?"

Doctor Johanssen's face darkens immediately. He rubs the back of a hand nervously, "Given (Y/N)'s condition, the time constraints we are under, and your own plans for 'Project: Cadmus', I believe there is only one treatment option open to us… And it is the most monstrous."

Pierce lets out a long, shaky breath and sets the tablet down, "Project: Lazarus."

"And who _precisely_ do you want to use?!" Agent Bishop's jaw drops, "That 'Project' is an abomination! Worse even!"

"I know, believe me. As the doctor on call, I hate it _more_ than you possibly could, it isn't something I _ever_ though I would recommend, under _any_ circumstances, and frankly I don't recommend it now. All I'm saying is that it is the _only_ option if you want (Y/N) to make it to next year. It's up to you, Director Pierce, to decide if the cost is something you're willing to pay."

"You're disgusting." Agent Bishop crosses her arms.

"No, I am." There is no defiance or anger in your grandfather's voice, simply acceptance, "I am the one who will give the order, Doctor Johanssen will only be doing his job." He glances to the man, "You're _positive_?"

"Kidney, liver, and heart. She won't survive three transplants at once, we can't _do_ the operations fast enough one-by-one to stay ahead of the organ failure, and synthetic options won't work. Her body is too weak to survive cryofreeze or reconstitution while we wait for another option, we could crack the super-soldier serum _right now_ and it wouldn't change the fact that she wouldn't survive the procedure, _and_ she doesn't possess the necessary genetic markers for the Kree therapy from the T.A.H.I.T.I. project, even if we _could_ get a vial of the serum!" Doctor Johanssen throws his hands up, utterly hopeless, "There is nothing experimental, commercial, pseudo, or theoretical that I can find to save her."

Silas looks again to Pierce, "We hit a dead end tracing her movement. At this moment, I cannot tell you if she is working with our enemies. The safe bet is that she isn't, but… I can't advise you either way until we find the driver who brought her into Lincoln and James Joaquin Cruz isn't exactly documented." Even if he was, Silas would never make the connection between James and Luis via his cousin's roommate's book club's—honestly you stopped listening a full minute before Luis finished explaining the connection. Needless to say, it was one only _he_ could follow.

"There are two choices: Death, or Lazarus." Pierce's face sets into a grimace, "I am a grandfather second, Hydra first. Still, it has always been a difficult line to see… We have four prisoners downstairs," he glances to Silas, "how many do we need?"

Silas considers it for a long time, "For 'Cadmus', we could make do with one. It isn't ideal, but… It's possible."

"Doctor, how many do you think-"

"One." Doctor Johanssen's attention is focused on his hands.

"You're going to _slaughter_ three-"

"To save her? Yes." Pierce cuts Bishop off. He's staring at the security footage of you, reminding himself what he is fighting for, "Of the four, Barton's wife should be saved. With her, he has a chance to rebuild everything we took from them. The Avengers will _never_ risk full on assault so long as we hold her at least."

"But it's-"

"Start with the youngest," Pierce stares Johanssen down until the doctor looks up and nods, "If we can get far enough with only two for conventional medicine to take over, do it. If you need the third, take him."

Agent Bishop takes a deep breath, which doesn't go unnoticed by your grandfather, "You are not alone, Agent. I do only what I believe is needed to save (Y/N)'s life. You cannot understand, you aren't a parent. I have raised two beautiful young women- a daughter and a granddaughter- and I have lost them both. Fate has given me a second chance to save my daughter's precious child… I will not allow her to remain on my long list of personal failures. Hydra will rise from the ashes of defeat, and so will she."

"You won't be involved directly." Silas dismissed Bishop's discomfort, "All you need to do is keep (Y/N) from finding out the cost of 'Project: Lazarus'. If she knew-"

"She wouldn't run away this time," Pierce's voice is emotionless, "she would walk straight up to me and slit her own throat, so she could watch me suffer as she dies." No one speaks, no one can argue with the pure conviction in his voice. Pierce isn't guessing, there is no supposition, it is prophecy- pure and simple.

"It will take 'Project: Lazarus' three weeks to drain the prisoners, considering their youth." Doctor Johanssen says softly, "That leaves us enough time to make further preparations if need be."

"You have your orders, get the device ready." Pierce looks to Agent Bishop, "Your job remains unchanged- protect (Y/N) from any and all threats. Even the truth." He looks to Silas finally, "Mrs. Barton has enjoyed our _lenient_ hospitality long enough. Go separate the bear from her cubs. Make sure _she_ knows what 'Project: Lazarus' has in store for them… Not that her fate with 'Cadmus' is any better."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Trigger Warnings: None, but there is a bit of NSFW adult content.**

Chapter 9

"Hey."

"Hey." Clint doesn't look at Steve. He doesn't break eye contact with the picture in his hands. It's from about fifteen minutes after Nathaniel's birth. Laura is sweaty, exhaustion shows on the lines of her face, she's flushed, her hair is a wreck, and a deep, dark blue circles her eyes. She couldn't look more radiant. Cooper and Lila lay on either side of their mother in the hospital bed. Clint holds Nathaniel's tiny hand as he crouches next to his wife and family.

He remembers everything from that moment. The pride, the love, the adrenaline, the fear, the song playing on Laura's phone ('Dark Side of the Moon'), the smell of sweat, blood, birth, and hospital sterilizer. He remembers Natasha's proud grin as she took the picture and chronicled the growth of her surrogate family…

All of it is gone now. All of their pictures, all of their memories, left burning on the lawn. Only this one survived, and that's because it was in Clint's wallet when he went off to help Steve save Bucky.

"She didn't try to stop me from leaving," Clint says softly, "but… that doesn't mean she didn't hate me for it."

"I've seen you two together," Steve reminds him, "Laura loves you, unconditionally, and I know she understood why you left."

"Did she?" Clint lets a tear slide down his cheek as he traces her face with a finger, "I left her to raise one child on her own, and then I swore I was done… Then I left her to raise _two_ children on her own, and I swore I was done… And then-" his voice breaks, "and then I left her again, this time with _three_ children, and… I was a weekend father at best. I threw myself into missions without exit strategies, without plans- while I had a _family_ at home! What kind of father does that? Laura is a saint, but… I didn't even leave to save the world this time. There was no alien army, no robot army, just… I left to referee a grudge match everyone could see coming a hundred miles away. Hell, after the Battle of New York Natasha bet me fifty bucks you two would be sworn enemies inside three years, I said five… I guess I win."

Steve hangs his head, "I'm sorry I called you in-"

"Don't." Clint closes his eyes and sets the picture down on a side table, "I hate to break it to you Steve, I know how much you love carrying the weight of the world on those shoulders, but I'm a grown-ass man… I'm just sorry my priorities were so fucked up. Besides, you couldn't have known Zemo wasn't going to unleash the other super-soldiers. You needed me there as much as I needed to be there to help."

"If you hand yourself back over to Ross and Stark, I'm sure they'd agree to help get Laura and the kids."

"I thought we had all of that handled?" Clint looks up at Steve, "Isn't that where (Y/N) comes in?"

"She knows we didn't tell her everything."

"Jesus, Steve-"

"I know. You were against lying to her." Steve hangs his head, "If I'd gone to Tony, explained the situation with the other super-soldiers, he'd have helped. I knew that, but… I wanted to fight. I was angry with the UN, I lost Peggy, and right when it looks like I might finally have found someone special of my own, everything goes to hell… And every call I've made since then has been a disaster. I called you in instead of swallowing my pride, knowing exactly what I was taking you from. I ran you all headfirst into an ambush and then left you all to take the fall for _my_ mistake. I dragged you into hiding instead of taking you _straight_ to Laura, I devoted valuable time and resources into locating and drying out (Y/N) instead of going to Stark's Avengers- even though we all know he'd have helped bring down Pierce in a heartbeat- hell _, General Ross_ would have agreed as well! I made the call to lie to her and now… Now I don't know if (Y/N) will even help us get your family out of that hellhole. I failed you- as a friend and as a leader…"

"Laura has a kid sister- bratty little shit, barely in her twenties- when she was thirteen she got into the middle of a SHIELD mission, and I had to save her ass. Took a bullet to the thigh for my troubles. Laura came to the hospital to thank me for getting her sister out of dodge and… Well, you know. A 'thank you' dinner turned into a date, there were more dinners, more dates, a wedding, a family, our kids… But little Kate, she grew up wanting to be just like me- bow and all. She's a vigilante out in LA now, and every time she'd call to tell Laura about her new scars, Laura would just look at me and mouth ' _I blame you_ '. It was like a little joke between us, except now the joke is on me. I might have killed her."

"We're going to get her-"Steve hesitates and cocks his head to the side, "wait, Clint, what did you say the sister's name is?"

"Kate."

"Kate _what_?"

Clint shrugs, "Kate Bishop. Why?"

"And she's in her twenties?"

"Yeah. Small, blonde, bratty, most likely to slip Cooper his first beer. _Why_?"

"Scott got a comm unit to (Y/N) earlier. She said she was being watched by someone named _Kate Bishop_ , posing as a merc-turned-Hydra Agent. (Y/N) Tagged her as a 30-40 year old brunette."

"That's _absolutely_ not Kate," Clint is visibly disturbed. "Steve, I know you don't want me State-side in case I jump the gun here, but I need to get to LA, _now_."

Steve's heart is pounding in his ears, "You think something happened to Kate too?"

"She would _never_ let someone operate under her name," Clint scoops up the photograph and immediately gets up. Steve follows him back out of the lounge towards the residential hallway, "I was so focused on getting to Laura, I never thought about Kate." He spins around abruptly and points to Steve, "You need to find a way to get a message to (Y/N) to get away from that 'Kate Bishop' as fast as she can, however it takes. I've pissed off groups who frankly scare me more than Hydra and who wouldn't hesitate to worm their way into Hydra just to get at my family."

"Take Wanda," Steve is already turning back towards the rec room where he last saw Scarlet Witch. "I'm not letting you walk into some kind of trap."

"Tell Sam and Scott to do _whatever_ it takes to get me a picture of (Y/N)'s Kate Bishop. I need to know who this bitch is _yesterday_."

"I will, good luck."

"You too, you'll need it."

* * *

It all sort of hits you at dinner. Halfway through your steak (as promised) and mashed potatoes, right around the time your stomach decides it's had its fill and the warmth of the food makes you feel _good_ for the first time in _weeks_ , the world starts to slowly tip sideways and your eyes begin to close. Even sitting across from your grandfather, even in the nest of evil and depravity that is Hydra, you can't help but remember when this was your home. When you felt _safe_ here, loved, and protected.

Normally the nostalgia would make your stomach churn, but you're too tired for any more disgust. Too tired for bad memories or missions or decay and death- you just want to curl up under the covers of your bed and _sleep_ … You know the feel of sedatives, you'd know if someone were drugging you, but this is simple, pure, honest exhaustion. Not even the aches and pains of withdrawal bother you tonight. You're numb- physically, emotionally, and mentally.

Pierce smiles as you blink slowly- one eye at a time. You're swaying slightly in your chair, fighting back sleep. He clears his throat and Agent Bishop steps in from the hallway, "You had your dinner?"

"Yes, Director Pierce."

"Good. Then please take my granddaughter up to bed. I've had a cot moved into the room with her for you to sleep on." He wasn't kidding when he said he wanted Bishop to watch over you like a hawk.

"Yes, sir." Bishop comes to your side. You don't look at Pierce as you get up and leave the room-Agent Bishop guiding you along with a hand on your back.

You don't remember going upstairs, you don't remember brushing your teeth or changing into your nightclothes, you don't even remember laying down, but you manage to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep almost immediately. For the first time there are no flashbacks to old memories, no nightmares, no chills, no itching, no buzzing in your ears- just the warm blanket of a good night's sleep.

You stir shortly after 2am. At first, you aren't sure what is waking you, and you try to go back to sleep. After a moment it comes to you and you groan. A noise or a light you can ignore, a full bladder you cannot. You are forced to relinquish the cozy blankets for the cool air as you walk across the plush carpeting to your bathroom.

The room is dark and silent, as it should be in the middle of the night, but it isn't until you leave the bathroom that you realize it's _too_ quiet. There is no sound of another person breathing, no movement in the cot next to the moonlit window-

You're alone.

There is a lump in Bishop's bed, a crude attempt at disguising the emptiness. She isn't there- but she wants someone to believe she is. You glance to the door and notice that it is ajar ever so slightly, as though Bishop tried to close it as softly and silently as possible but did not quite get the bolt into the latch.

You slip over to the door and peek out into the hallway. A lone guard is slumped in his chair, fast asleep with a half-full mug of coffee beside him. Your grandfather never tolerated incompetence, and he certainly demanded the utmost from his guards- the man was more than likely drugged.

An odd noise comes to you from downstairs and you hesitate. On the one hand, Steve hiding your condition from you did nothing to change your desire to find Laura and her children as fast as possible. On the other hand- you weren't exactly itching to run headfirst back down to that basement. Not after what happened last time. A part of you _knew_ the sound of wood dragging across wood was the secret hatch opening, revealing the Hydra base below, and for a long time that part of you was the one controlling your legs.

Eventually you inch forward down the steps. You take each stair slowly, carefully, and stay as close to the wall as possible to avoid creaky boards. You hear someone grumbling slightly in frustration as they tap on what must be a keyboard of some sort.

At the landing, you edge forward just enough to peek around the corner. There is a guard on the floor, also asleep with coffee at his side, and another sleeps in the window well near the front of the house. At the back, along a section of wall with white wooden wainscoting, Agent Bishop herself is typing away frantically at a small keypad. Every now and then she casts a glance over her shoulder, then goes back to her mission. A screen in front of her keeps flashing various file names and reports, but whatever they are they are certainly not what she's looking for.

This area is one you are unfamiliar with. The secret door to the Hydra base is further down, she appears to be at a terminal of some sort. The badge of another agent- maybe a guard- is discarded by her feet as she types.

 _So, she wants information?_

A picture flashes up on the monitor of a stone-faced woman clamped to a chair with leather cuffs. She's covered in cuts and bruises, a black eye is swollen shut, and blood mixes with dirt on her skin. Under the image is a name- 'BARTON, 1 of 4'.

A thrill goes up your spine- _they're here!_ You _finally_ have confirmation! It's disturbing to you that this 'Agent Bishop', whoever she is, seems to also be after your quarry, but you've passed along her name to the Avengers. Now you can pass along some _good_ news!

Your heart hammers. Bishop seems pleased with what she's found and proceeds to open some kind of text file- it's far too small for you to read. You know you won't be able to learn any more tonight, but you smile nonetheless and slip back upstairs before Bishop decides to check her surroundings.

At the top of the stairs, you slip down the hall past the sleeping guard and walk quietly towards your room. As you pass one of the guest rooms, the door quickly opens and a hand shoots out to grab your arm and drag you inside. Before you can scream, a hand is over your mouth and someone twists your arm behind you, preventing you from hitting back.

"Ssh," Silas whispers softly in your ear, "ssh, little one." He waits until the tension leaves your muscles to release your hand and pull his hand back from your mouth, but he stays too close to you, "I remembered how much you always loved midnight walks…"

"You drugged the guards?" Your skin crawls with goosebumps as Silas gently rubs your arm with the back of his fingers and buries his nose in your hair to breath in its scent.

"All but Agent Bishop, but I figured you would slip out sooner or later, and as you might recall, the bedrooms on this floor are well insulated against sound." His mouth is so close to you now you feel his lips brush against your ear as he speaks. Once upon a time you loved this man's touch. When you were fifteen just the thought of being with him like this would have made your knees tremble and shake.

Now your shiver was less _anticipation_ and more _revulsion_.

"I hate you," you keep your voice soft.

"I know." He slowly takes the edge of your ear in his mouth and gently traces his teeth along the skin.

 _I have to let him think there is a chance,_ you are well practiced in talking yourself into repulsive liaisons. It kept the drugs coming during cold and hungry times more often than you ever wanted to admit. Silas sucks on an earlobe as his hand finds its way up your nightshirt. _If he's willing to drug his own guards… I can make this work to my benefit. It could be the difference between getting out of here and ending up chained to a wall in the basement again._ Silas always acted like saving you was done out of loyalty to Pierce, but you knew it was his lust for you as much as anything else.

"I miss you." You groan slightly as he gently squeezes.

"I know." His other hand slides around to the front of your pajama pants. He slips it under the band of your underwear slowly, "Me too." He pulls you gently against him and moves his hips side to side so you can feel _exactly_ how much he's missed you, "No one else is as _warm_ ," he slips his hand down between your legs, "or as _soft_." He curves his middle finger up inside you.

Despite yourself, you feel a spark of that old desire waking up again after so long. You were putty in his hands for _years_ , more nights than not, and all under the utmost secrecy. Your affair was never suspected, never revealed, and it was that dangerous, dark secret that kept you entranced.

"Silas," you mean to push him back, but instead you wrap one hand around the back of his neck and grab onto the footboard of the bed with the other to brace yourself as your knees tremble in some kind of pavlovian response. A second finger joins the first and you bite your lip and throw your head back, " _Silas_!"

It's more of a gasp than an admonition. His mouth on your neck, his hot tongue against your skin, makes you tighten your grip. Once again, your body remembers how it responded to his touch ever since you were a teen. Instead of pulling his hand up and away, you find yourself pushing it down further.

He slides his thumb out so that it rubs all the right spots as his fingers do their work. You cry out once more and feel him smile against your skin. Your hand comes off the back of his neck and you hold yourself up by the footboard. Sensing how close you are, he abruptly pulls his hand from your shirt and brushes your hair to the other shoulder so he can switch to the other side of your neck. The heat of his mouth combines with the cold shock of air on the saliva left behind, the renewed menstruations of both hands and soon his tight grip is the only thing holding you up as pleasure explodes throughout your body and you shudder uncontrollably in his tight embrace.

Silas slows his pace as you come back to earth. He waits until your legs are firmly beneath you before he slides his hands out of your clothes, "Welcome home." He whispers softly in your ear.

"I can't- I don't-"your body is still pulsing from his touch, but your mind is clearing and you know you _do not_ want this to go any further. You don't need to be reminded of how much you loved him once, you aren't entirely sure your heart can handle reopening the hole his betrayal left in it. He was Hydra. He _is_ Hydra. He's everything you hate in the world… Even though once upon a time he was everything your young soul loved.

"Don't worry," Silas rests his forehead against the crook between your neck and shoulder- his favorite place to nuzzle you, "I know you still need time. I will never push you further or faster than you want to go."

"Then what was that?" you say softly. Yes, the room is sound proof, but since he is whispering you can't help but whisper too.

"A welcome home," his hand slips forward again and rubs lightly over the front of your pants, sending a small jolt through you, "and an apology for being so cranky yesterday. I've always hated how I have to treat you around your grandfather."

"He'd kill you if he ever even _suspected_ we got along."

"See? Nothing's changed. You can still be happy here. If you leave, we can't be together."

"And if I stay we get to keep creeping around in the dark?"

"Not for too much longer," Silas kisses your shoulder softly.

"What does that mean?"

"You'll see."

Goosebumps rise again on your arms, "Silas-"

"It'll all work out."

You turn slowly to face Silas in the darkness. You can just make out the slightest of grins on his thin face, "What are you planning?"

"It isn't _my_ plan, it's _yours_." Silas smiles, "'Project: Cadmus'."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You'll figure it out," he leans in and kisses your forehead, "you're the smartest person in this house."

"Dammit, Silas-"

"Goodnight (Y/N)," he steps back from you towards the door. "Again, welcome home." He raises his right hand- the one that made your knees give out minutes before, and touches the two fingers most responsible to his lips to blow you a kiss. "I look forward to our next rendezvous. Just duck in here whenever you're ready and I will come to you. We can go as fast, or as slow, as you wish. I'm more than happy to repeat what just happened." He winks and slips out into the hallway.

 _What the fuck is going on in this place?_ You keep a hand on the footboard, but slid down to the floor, bewildered and exhausted once more. _Silas is moving against grandfather, Agent Bishop is… something, and I'm- what am I? Avenger? Whore? Plaything? Conspirator? Co-Conspirator?_

About 2/3 of you feels dirty for what you and Silas just did. The other 1/3 needs serious reminding of _why_ you ran away from him and your grandfather so fast and so far. As a lover, you'd forced yourself to see only the good in Silas and allowed the rest to blind you. The sting of that was only made stronger tonight, when he reminded you how it felt to be with him. You weren't fantasizing of walking down the aisle with that cold, evil freak, but you hated him for taking away that person you'd actually called a friend and lover once upon a time.

"I need a shower," you grumble to yourself, "and a few grams of the purest crystal in this state."

Silas watches from around the corner as you slip out of the room and head back to yours. The redness in the skin of your neck will be gone before you ever notice it.

As the first shocks of orgasm rushed through you, when Silas brushed your hair aside, you never even felt the sharp pinch of the device he held to you. Your cry of pleasure and the long, hard shudder that ran through your body concealed the tingling of the needles attaching to inject their trackers beneath your flesh. His head on your shoulder kept you from feeling it as he carefully lifted the spent device from your skin and gently licked away the traces of blood.

Now everywhere you go, he'll know, and everything you say, he'll hear. Silas' whispers about Cadmus were a red herring- something for you to obsess over while he readies his true plan.

He presses the fingers to his lips once more as he watches you slip back into your room…

As much as you were unaware of Silas' actions, he was unaware of the actions of another- someone who heard you on the stairs, someone who saw you vanish into the room, and someone who slipped a wire-camera under the door to see _exactly_ what was happening inside.

Agent Kate Bishop.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Trigger Warnings: None :)  
**

Sorry for the late chapter- my older brother has been home on early Christmas leave from the army, so I haven't been writing :)

 **Chapter 10**

3 Months Ago

It started out normal enough- a clandestine meeting of crime lords, gang leaders, and freelance guns- but for the fourth time in a _week_ a SHIELD raid ruined everything.

She'd learned her lesson in the first two near-misses- stay to the back of the room, away from any doors and close to a drainage grate. The underground was dangerous, rotting, putrid, and almost guaranteed death after all the summer rains, but that just meant it was the safest way out once the building was surrounded.

As they talked, she'd pulled the steel-reinforced zip-ties from her pocket. As the weakest gang leader in the room prompted the others to brag about their crimes and acts of devotion to Hydra's growing power (he might as well be wearing a neon sign saying "INFORMANT!"), she knelt and put a hand on the grate. They always started like this. As soon as she saw a flutter of movement in the skylight, she moved.

The grate was up and she'd jumped down in the pipe before the glass in the ceiling was shattered onto the criminals below. In the chaos of bullets, tear gas, and shouting that erupted she held her stance- still quite visible in the cramped pipe, and bought herself a good ten minute lead by sacrificing the twenty strenuous seconds it took to secure the grate with six zip-ties. She nearly lost her fingers in the process when a stray bullet hit the metal and exploded- and got a few cuts in her face for the trouble- but it was worth it.

From the drainage grate to the storm drain was a seven minute army crawl at full speed through slime, scum, sewage, mold, rocks, and rusty nails- not all of which were stopped by the leather coat she wore. An iron mesh at the end of the pipe once acted as a catch for debris hosed down with whatever filth littered the floor, but now it had long-since rusted away.

The hard part wasn't getting out of the warehouse, it was getting through the storm drain. If the pipe was slick and toxic, the drain itself was a slip-and-slide. High water overflowed to the service path and combined with the slick and vile flooring to make finding your footing a dangerous game in and of itself. If you fell in the rushing torrent of water from the city? It'd be a miracle if they even found your body to bury. Go too slow though, and your legs numb from the shockingly cold current. Once you stumble, the chances of recovering are slim to none and you're already dead. Caution and speed are musts in this place, and it's as oxymoronic a combination as ever there was.

A few heart-stopping slips, a slid or two, a close encounter with a handful of rats (alive or dead she didn't check) swimming along with the current and she could see the golden glint of moonlight on water. She didn't stop to listen for any sounds of pursuit- they wouldn't risk it once they saw the full drain. Not for one lone escapee among more than forty criminals.

She ran forward to freedom (and hopefully a hot shower or ten). A wave of cool, fresh air hit her and brought a smile to her face as she jumped up onto the muddy banks of the riverfront- already warmer than she was in that tunnel.

" _Very good_." The silky voice made her jump just as she got a few calming breaths in. She jumped up and drew her sidearm before she even saw the pale man in the suit, "though you left your friends behind. Marco won't forget that betrayal soon."

"Marco was a way into the meeting. Nothing more. I made sure there were no misunderstandings about that. Those were no more 'my friends' than you are." She kept her tone light, even though her gun was squarely pointed between his eyes.

"You've gone to a few meetings now… Why?"

"Too many vigilante's these days- SHIELD or otherwise. Hydra knows better than anyone what it takes to remake a world- what lines need to be blurred. If I have to throw in with someone, I choose _them_ over some goody-two-shoes Daredevil or an Inhuman piece of filth." She spat on the ground to emphasize her distaste, "Hydra, it turns out, are harder to find than I anticipated. So yeah, I go to the recruitment meetings." She took a slow breath and lowered her gun arm, "Now I get to ask a question-"

"It's only fair."

"Why does Hydra keep calling SHIELD on their own people?"

He smiled, "What gave it away?"

"Just a hunch." She holstered the gun, but kept a hand on it just in case the pale man made a move she didn't approve of.

"Call it a test. If you're caught so easily, you fail. We noticed you the second time through. I was hoping you'd continue to succeed. I needed to know if it was skill or dumb luck keeping you out of their hands."

"Who the hell are you?"

"Silas."

"You have a last name?"

"Yes." He smiled cheekily, "I'm Hydra's Security Director. And you are-?"

"You don't know? Some 'Security Director' you are." She crossed her arms.

"I'm being polite." His eyes travel along the thick trail of muck coating her front from the crawl, "though that does not extend to a hand shake…"

"Bishop. Kate."

"Well, _Agent_ Bishop, welcome to Hydra. If you want the job, that is." He turns, clearly expecting her to follow him back up the slope.

She smiles and steps after him, resisting casting a glance up onto the warehouse roof where her own ally watches from the shadows.

 _I'm in. Finally._

Her only worry as she followed Silas into his car was what might happen if Hydra ever found the _real_ Kate Bishop.

* * *

When you finally leave the humid warmth of the bathroom, Bishop is sitting on her cot cleaning a sidearm, "How was the 3am shower?"

"Refreshing." You toss your nightclothes in a hamper and make a show of choosing a book from your shelves.

"And _why_ did you decide to take a _two hour_ shower in the middle of the night?"

"I felt like it." You find the book you want and take it over to your bed. Bishop has the lights all on, but you click your bedside lamp up all the same.

"That's all you've got?"

"I _really_ felt like it." You flip to the back of the book and start skimming the index. You smile to yourself and decide to turn the screws a little, "Well, I turned on the lamp and you were long gone. I didn't think me going in for a warm-up shower would bother you so much."

Bishop chuckles lightly, sets her sidearm down half-assembled, and is across the room with a hand on your throat before you have a chance to react. She pins you to the headboard and puts another hand on your shoulder to steady you- though unknown to you the sharp pain you feel through your arm and neck is Silas' implant jarring. Her action effectively cuts out the audio feature, "Listen here you little brat," Bishop pulls you forward then shoves you against the headboard once more, "I don't know what you're planning, I don't know what your game is, but I will _not_ let you _fuck around_ while I have a job to do. Got it?"

"What I have planned?" you choke through the hand at your neck, "What about _you_? I saw you downstairs- who the fuck are you?"

"Someone who doesn't feel _sorry_ for you anymore, not after what I saw you and Silas doing in the dark." Your blood goes cold at that, "I don't know if your whole drug thing was a cover for some mission, or if you're here now to con your granddad out of money, and I don't give a shit. You have no idea what's about to happen here-"

"No, _you_ don't!" You strain against her hand and actually manage to slide forward a few inches before Bishop pins you back again, "Just stay out of my way- keep your trap _shut_ \- and maybe you don't die here."

"Who are you working for?" she snarls.

"Who are _you_ working for?" You stare her down, each of you daring the other to make a move. "That's what I thought. Now get your hand off my throat before I decide to tell my grandfather you aren't the good little soldier he thinks. Silas might do everything in his power to piss me off during the daytime, but don't forget what you saw. I choose to move against you, he'll find an excuse to as well."

You don't know where the fury comes from- maybe it's the shame, the disgust at what you did, what you're making Bishop _think_ you still do with that monster, but you can't trust her with your mission. Having her nearby might still be helpful- god knows if they replaced her with someone _competent_ you couldn't snoop around either- but you want- _need_ \- her to be scared of you. So you throw every ounce of poison you can muster into your words, and every sliver of hate in your heart goes into the glare you fix on Agent Bishop as you glare her down.

She smirks and backs away, slowly releasing your throat. You swallow hard- it's already painful, "You started thrashing around in your sleep, I had to restrain you." A jolt goes through your neck- the device coming back online, "It's unfortunate that I had to put an arm across your neck. Oh well, if it bruises, it's just because I care _that_ much." She smiles sweetly and you can't help but feel like the older woman is forcing you into place, rather than the other way around.

"Oh, and (Y/N)?" She backs off the bed and returns to her cot to continue reassembling her gun, "'Cadmus' is under 'C', not 'K'." She picks up the half-finished gun and points it directly at your head, "And it's not for _children_ to screw with."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Trigger Warnings: None**

 **Chapter 11**

"Clint, what are we doing here again?" Wanda growls as they enter the flea market for the _fourth day in a row_.

"When we hear from Kate, we can stop coming." Clint stomps over to the peach seller and growls, "Do you have any pit-less peaches?"

"Still none, stop asking!" The seller snaps back with just as much frustration and venom.

"See? Even _he's_ tired of seeing us." Wanda pulls Clint away and walks him far from the rest of the crowd, "She is your sister-in-law, there has to be another way to contact her other than passing a vague code-phrase around."

Clint hisses back at her, "THERE ISN'T!"

"How did you and Laura tell her whenever a baby was born? Huh?" Wanda threw her arms up, "There has to be a way to contact her in case of an emergency, you can't have come here EVERY time you needed to speak with her!"

"Oh, gee, you're right, I totally forgot I have her cell on speed-dial!" Clint stormed off a few feet, "We _had_ a way to call her, it was in our _house_ , it's charcoal now!"

"Oh, yeah, that's smart, make a scene. Attract attention." A dark skinned woman strolls out from between the tents and crosses her arms. Her shorts and tank top only serve to highlight impressively toned muscles, and even though she may look harmless and unimposing with her hair in braided pigtails, a sharp eye saw her for what she was- a fighter. And a very well trained one at that.

Clint barely hesitates while he assesses her, "We need to talk to Kate."

"That's not happening."

"You don't get it-"

"If Kate wanted to be an Avenger, she'd have sought you out. Just because you're a fugitive now, _Hawkeye_ , doesn't mean she's any more interested in the job."

Wanda sizes the girl up, "Hydra has a Kate Bishop of their own, but we know it isn't _her_. We need to know if the _real_ Kate Bishop has any idea who has stolen her name."

"When did she surface?" The woman isn't surprised in the least.

"We don't know."

The woman chews her upper lip as she thinks, "I'm _only_ telling you this because you _were_ an Avenger, otherwise I'd keep my trap shut, but… Kate and I are roommates-"

"You're Monique?"

"I'm Monique. You knowing my name means Kate trusted you more than she let on." There is bitterness in her voice. "Three months ago Kate was getting ready to go out on a mission- looking to work her way through a cartel that's been bringing in shipments of human cargo. Kate opened the window and Marco was standing on the fire escape waiting for her. His men broke down the front door and forced me into a dining room chair, Marco took Kate back to her room and closed the door. About ten minutes later they came out and Marco's men _dragged_ Kate out of the apartment. The guys on me stayed for a while- probably until Marco and Kate were away- then they handcuffed me to the chair and left. Took me an hour to get loose and I had to break two thumbs to do it." She shakes her head and her voice wobbles slightly, "I don't even know if Kate's alive. I don't want to think about what that sick fuck is doing to her if she is…"

"Thank you for letting us know," Clint nods to Monique. "Kate is… She's important to me, a longtime friend. I'll do what I can to get her back."

"You can't take down Marco. He's the most powerful crime lord in the country." Monique shakes her head, "Don't feed false hope."

"I know _exactly_ what kind of man Marco is." Clint's snarl is a rare display of temper from the Avenger.

Wanda puts a hand on his arm, noting the white knuckles of his fist, aching to punch something, "Thank you, Monique, for the information. We _will_ do what we can to get Kate back, do not worry." She nodded and Monique took the hint. The woman looks Clint up and down, then walks back towards the stalls and the crowd. Almost as soon as she enters the crowd, she's vanished.

"Now we have to find Marco. Great."

"Do you think Kate is still alive?" Wanda keeps her tone soft as she follows Clint away from the market and towards the road.

"She's still alive," Clint is positive, "Marco is territorial. He won't kill her, but that doesn't mean he's above keeping her under house arrest- in _his_ house."

"What do you mean _territorial_?" Wanda frowns, "What is Kate's relationship with Marco?"

"None, _directly_." Clint casts a glance to Wanda, then sighs, "It's kind of a touchy subject."

"I'm here to help you find Kate. Now that means going to Marco. We are friends, Clint, and I am with you on this mission. I need to know what you know about this man."

Clint hangs his head for a moment and mumbles something.

"I did not catch that."

"Marco mmph-mummnr."

"Try again."

"Marco's my brother, OK?!" Even though he's whispering, Clint manages to sound as though he'd screamed it, "Marco won't hurt Kate because she's my sister-in-law, but that doesn't mean he won't sell her _identity_ to the highest bidder if they've got enough coin! He could have sold it to some assassin trying to kill Laura and the kids, he wouldn't ask questions like that!"

Wanda is stunned, "Your _brother_ is the most powerful crime lord in the United States?"

"He's a greedy little prick who only thinks about himself. Twenty years ago he was the right-hand man to the _last_ Marco. He saw an opening, turned Marco's generals to _his_ side, and when he was ready he slit the man's throat and took his place. SHIELD's been trying to take him out for ages. I've been trying to take him down since I was eighteen. He's a smart little dick-head."

"Who somehow knows Kate is your sister-in-law?" Clint hadn't even told the _Avengers_ about Laura until he absolutely had to, why had he told a brother he so clearly hated with every fiber of his being?

Clint waves for a taxi, but none stop- probably because he looks like he's ready to murder the first person who looks at him wrong, "Laura and I were married in _secret_. Only _Fury_ knew- and we honeymooned in a hunting cabin deep in the middle of nowhere. By _morning_ there was a 'Welcome to the family' bouquet for Laura on the porch. He's got a stupid rule about family, but don't be fooled- Monique is lucky to be alive. Kate must have had some sort of leverage over him to negotiate that. He doesn't leave witnesses."

Wanda waves off the one taxi that finally slows down and spins Clint to face her, "You need to tell me what our next move is. Do we join the others in Virginia, or do we go after your brother?"

"Ooh, I vote for going after the brother," Clint spins and throws a dagger at the man who seemed to appear out of nowhere behind them. Wanda readies her powers to block anything he might throw at them- but he simply catches the blade and begins to casually spin it around his knuckles.

Clint doesn't leave it at the knife. He takes a step towards him- probably meaning to make a violent scene in public, but the man holds up a hand and he freezes. Wanda watches him carefully. He's extremely well dressed in a fitted gray suit, accented with silver embroidery that makes it look as though his clothes ripple in the sunlight. His sandy hair is short, but not so short he does not have it immaculately styled in that chic _I-didn't-try_ kind of way. Straight nose, sharp jaw, high cheekbones- his face is _too_ sculpted- as though an admittedly skilled plastic surgeon went to town all over.

Two red dots are on Clint's chest, and Hawkeye eyes them before looking up at the gray-suited man, "Where. Is. Kate."

"Surely even _Avengers_ know how to say 'please'?"

"Fuck yourself in the ass with a rusty crowbar."

Wanda gets it then, "You're Marco?"

"My friends get to call me Berny. Berny Barton." He holds out a hand that is _obviously_ going to be ignored.

"Yeah, so you're Marco." Wanda doesn't miss the glint of approval in Clint's eye as she swats his outstretched hand, "He asked you where Kate Bishop is, it's time to answer."

"Kate Bishop is a very skilled mercenary with an impressive kill record," Marco's smile is nothing short of angelic. "I believe she is proudly serving as a member of Hydra now."

"The _real_ Kate Bishop." Clint snaps through gritted teeth.

Marco feigns surprise, "Oh _her_? Well, she's… _around_." He sighs, "Truthfully she's horrible company. Too much swearing for my taste, but you _know_ how much I love blonds, especially spunky ones... Mmmh, spunky blonds who smell nice..."

"Drop the act, we both know you wouldn't touch her, she's not your _type_. So, why did you take her?"

"Client needed Kate's kill record, she came to me, I sold it to her. Can't have Kate popping up and ruining it, so I'm keeping her. For now. The lease on her ID was only a six-month one. She's already made the halfway point! We had a party, with an ice cream cake an everything! Well- those of us who _weren't_ potty-mouths did."

Clint was shaking with rage, "Do you have _any idea_ who's _also_ in that Hydra base?"

Marco's smile goes from innocent to wolfish, "If the rumors are to be believed, my darling sister-in-law and her brood." He gasps again at the look of disgust and rage on Clint's face, "Oh no, you thought maybe I didn't know? Someone asked for an identity, I sold it to them and secured their purchase. It is no business of mine what their goals may or may not be, and _your_ family is _your_ responsibility. Clinton, what is it mommy always said was the most important thing in the world?"

He waits expectantly. More to speed the discussion along than anything else, Clint barks out the answer, "Family."

"That's right. _Family_. A big, happy family. Now I tried to mend fences- as you mentioned to this _charming_ Sokovian witch here, I _did_ send flowers after the wedding. What did you do?"

"I set them on fire."

"You. Set. Them. On. Fire." Marco slips the knife into a sleeve and crosses his arms, "And I sent more flowers after every child was born, all three girls-"

"Two boys, one girl."

"- _all three whatevers_. I sent flowers to Laura and even made little contributions to their college funds in lieu of gifts over the years." He nods to Wanda conspiratorially, "Harder to set money in a bank account on fire." Marco turns his attention back to Clinton, "You didn't want me in your family's life, and yet here I am- without the blood of your sister-in-law on my hands, even though my men made fun of me for only keeping her as a pet."

"No they didn't." Clint spits, "You'd have killed them if they tried."

Marco laughs, "That's true. Even so, I've answered your questions, and you didn't even have to threaten me. What's that worth if not the love of a brother?"

"Your life." Wanda smiles, and sends a bolt of power towards him, stopping it just between his eyes, "Tell your men to fire, and I will block their bullets before they are within fifty feet of Clint." She glances to her companion, "Do you want him? You said SHIELD's been trying to get at him."

Clint stares at Marco for a long time before making his decision, "No, Wanda. The damage is done, and I won't risk Kate. Not yet. I _will_ kill you, little brother, but I'll get my wife back and kill your little imposter first."

"Better hurry, she's a gal on a mission," Marco waves sarcastically. A taxi pulls up behind Clint and Wanda- clearly one of Marco's men. He walks past the Avengers and waits while the cabbie holds the door open for him, then closes it with a quick bow, "Oh, one more thing, Clint-" Marco rolls down the window as the driver returns to his seat, "I just want you to know that even if the _improved_ Kate Bishop told me her mission was to go into that facility and skin Mrs. Barton alive- I would still have given her what she wanted." The glare returns, "Family gets you a foot in the door, but don't ever think it gives you a free pass to behave as you wish. Frankly speaking? You've been _extra_ intolerable ever since that stupid _bitch_ fell into your life- if you'll pardon the French. It was only a matter of time before someone did the world a favor and took her out of it."

The icy darkness that filled Marco's eyes as he spoke abruptly brakes into another pleasant grin as the cab pulls away and the red dots vanish from Clint's back, "See you at Thanksgiving, big brother!"

"Are you sure you don't want me to kill him? He isn't out of my range yet." Wanda glares after the cab as it vanishes into the busy throng of LA traffic.

"No, because I want to take my time breaking his bones… Or having Bucky break his bones. He seems like a guy who could give me tips on torture." Clint's fists clench and unclench.

"Deep breaths," Wanda reminds her friend as he continues to tremble with rage, "just picture that Thanksgiving dinner- you, Laura, the kids- everyone around the table, happy as can be… And your brother with a skewer shoved up his ass roasting over the fire."

Clint forces a smile and waves down a taxi of their own, "That's actually a nice image. Maybe I can get Steve to paint me a mural of it. Especially the part with that smug _son-of-a-bitch_ on fire."

"I'm sure he's just riling you," Wanda assures him as they climb into the cab, "he won't let anything happen to the children, at least. No matter his feelings towards their mother." She was aware of the cabbie as she spoke.

Clint gives the man directions to the hostel they were hiding at and sat back with a sigh, "The problem with my brother is- I can't even believe _that_ right now… Saving Kate, damning Laura… I guess there's one silver lining."

"What's that?"

"Nat's not here." Clint smiles sadly at Wanda, "She and-" he glanced to the driver, a notorious crime lord's name might draw unwanted attention, "-and _Berny_ have a bit of a history of trying to kill each other."

"Too bad she took Anthony's side then." Wanda rolls her eyes, "I'd give everything to see that grin wiped off of _Berny's_ face. Permanently."

Clint did not reply. His rage at seeing his brother was beginning to ebb, and dread was sinking in. It was a week since you entered the Hydra facility. Any day now you would be let out for a bit of a reprieve. If Bucky could get close to you- and if you hadn't decided to sell everyone down the river- then there is a chance you would have more intel on Laura and the kids, or on _Agent_ Kate Bishop. Or that Bucky would get a picture of Kate's face- enough perhaps for Clint to look over and see who exactly was gunning for his family so he could know just how _screwed_ everyone was.

"Have faith," Wanda puts a hand on Clint's shoulder, "everything will be alright."

As Clint smiles feebly in response, he cannot know that on the other side of the country, Hydra's Lazarus device has already claimed a life.


	12. Chapter 12

**Trigger Warnings: None :)  
**

 **Chapter 12**

Your whole body tingles- and not in the good way.

It feels like you were holding on for dear life to something that shakes fiercely, turning your arms to jelly and your legs to a wobbly mess. You can feel the rattling in your bones- a tickling weakness that is more annoying than anything. Especially since nothing is actually shaking.

You're strapped in a chair off of Doctor Johanssen's main lab- somewhere private and out of sight as you endure yet another day of this treatment. It takes hours to get through, and you aren't allowed to move a muscle as the hundreds of probes are lightly touched to your skin and the machine hums to life.

"OW!" You feel a shocking jolt through the machine, as though every spire shocked you at once. The machine immediately shuts off and as the cooling fans wind down, you could almost have sworn you heard Agent Bishop- watchful as always- sigh heavily and whisper "Thank God…"

"Don't worry," Johanssen almost sounds _sad_ , "that just means the- the cartridge ran out. It was expected."

No one has told you anything about the machine they all call Lazarus. You don't particularly _want_ to know why Johanssen seems paler every day, why the guards in the halls look at you so strange, or why smells and tastes seem so _off_ from what your brain is telling you they should be.

You are three weeks into your recovery. By all rights, you should _still_ be more dead than alive, especially after just how much meth you'd been taking these last few months. You should be a shaking, incoherent, sweat-soaked mess… but you're not. Yes, the cravings get so bad that sometimes you just want to give it all up; Yes, your body is still weak, slow, and your hands tremble uncontrollably. But you feel as though you've been clean for _months_ , not weeks, and the shaking is down to a tremor akin to simple low blood sugar. It's a miracle, and one you aren't too keen to unravel.

Your day typically consists of three hours in the machine, another hour or two with some shrink your grandfather pulled up from the base below, and then you have the rest of the afternoon to spend time as you wish. Your conversations with Bishop are kept to three-word sentences maximum, and you make a point to stay in your rooms at night (more to avoid Silas than anything else).

The hint Silas was gave you about Cadmus you are now about 75% sure was complete bullshit. You exhausted the admittedly limited library downstairs, your personal trove, and wiped out the first FIVE google results pages. There was no version of Cadmus' story that gave you any hints as to what Hydra's secret project might be. All you'd gotten from your research was a bedtime story:

Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess named Europa. The god Zeus fell in love with her, and approached her in the form of a bull. Europa- evidently a blond- decided the best thing to do with a ginormous bull coming up to her was to get on the fucker's back, because what can go wrong? Zeus took off, naturally, and ran her all the way to- shock and awe- _Europe_.

Cadmus was her older brother. He was sent to bring her home or never bother returning, but he knew there was no point fighting the Gods, he wasn't going to win her back or anything. He gave up pretty damn quickly and founded the city of Thebes. Yeah, he was a hero- maybe the first- but it was his friends who were more impressive: Perseus, slayer of Medusa, and Bellerophon, the man who tamed Pegasus and rode him into battle. Cadmus was just… blah.

The Avengers already knew more than you did about Cadmus. At least they knew it was a weapon.

"How is she?" Bishop was asking Johanssen as you wait for the metal prongs to lift away. They always sit for a while after the treatment.

"A little behind where I would have liked to see her at this point, but she'll be fine out there for an afternoon."

 _Out there_.

"Wait- what day is it?!" Thoughts of the Cadmus riddle vanish from your mind as you dare to hope.

"You know what day it is, don't be a brat." Agent Bishop may be some sort of force to reckon with, but even _she_ sounds excited. Deep, deep down.

"Gramps is _actually_ holding up his end of the bargain?" Your heart pounds in your ears.

"Not exactly," the metal prongs lift finally and Pierce is standing in the doorway, hand in a pocket. "You get the _afternoon_. Not a whole day." His eyes lift to Agent Bishop in the corner, "You need to be back by 8pm. We will have guests."

"Yes, sir." Bishop glances to you in anticipation of a fight, but you aren't about to risk your one shot at freedom for the _week_ on an argument when you can clearly see Pierce is locked on his decision.

"Here," your grandfather reaches into his back pocket and hands you something small and flat- a credit card, "I'm showing that I trust you."

"And?"

"And as soon as you get back you're taking a drug test and one of Doctor Johanssen's nurses will conduct a strip search." He smiles, "So don't screw it up."

You get up from the machine and walk up to your grandfather, swaying slightly at the unexpected ache in your legs and arms, "Friendly reminder- you aren't _forcing_ me to clean up, I did that all on my own." You pat his shoulder twice before walking past him and out to the main hallway. You need to throw on something other than sweats before leaving.

Even though he speaks in a low hiss, you can hear you grandfather grab Bishop as she goes to follow you and hiss a warning, "If anything goes wrong, you're the next body we feed to that machine."

You nearly miss a step as you reach the stairs.

* * *

"Well? Where do you want to go?"

"Nowhere in particular. Just park here." Bishop pulls into a community parking lot on the corner of Lake and College.

"For 'nowhere in particular' you sure picked somewhere particular." Bishop grumbles as she pulls the black sedan into a space.

You aren't really listening to her. You're thinking about what your grandfather said- and only partly to draw your attention from the heavy, prickling feeling in your limbs. Lake and College was a crowded space on a _down_ day, let alone the middle of a Saturday during summer. You picked it intending to make it as easy as possible for the Avengers to find you- not that you had much information for them. There was also plenty of opportunity for them to get a shot of Bishop and hopefully identify the bitch.

"HEY," Bishop snaps her fingers in front of your eyes to get your attention, "Damn you're spacey lately." She looks you over closely as you slowly blink. It's like the words are coming through a haze, and taking their damn sweet time getting to your ears, "I'll talk to Johanssen. I thought you were supposed to be getting _better_ , not worse…"

"Whatever," you don't even have the energy to put venom into your voice. What happened to that on-top-of-the-world feeling from when the machine stopped? You feel _awful_.

"I was _saying_ I'll hang back so you can pretend I'm not even here. But if you're-"

You wave Bishop off and start walking out of the lot and towards the street. True to her word, by the time you cross the street and look back, Bishop is gone. She's good, you just pray the Avengers can be as discreet as they were before.

You make it a block down Lake before you turn into the park on the waterfront. It's narrow here- only a few hundred feet or so between the street and Lake Champlain, but there are trees aplenty to lean against and watch the water. You avoid the quiet corner of the park- a man sits reading against a fence, though his baggy clothing, twitching feet, and the weary glances he shoots from behind the book marks him clearly enough as a dealer. Your mouth waters and your knees shake slightly. You stop, hand against a tree, and force yourself to breathe as every atom of your being seems to be screaming out.

"Can I _help_ you?" You don't even remember walking towards him. One second you're by the tree, the next you're standing across from him. You can feel the fever burning your brow, the hand you hold out to him is pale and beaded in sweat. You shake as your mouth goes dry and you try to form the words.

"Sorry dude, my sister's a bit partied out." A cold hand claps your shoulder as a man pulls you into his side. The dealer eyes you both, but just jerks his chin in a nod. You have no doubt as the man turns you and walks you away that the dealer will be packed up and gone by the time you've moved five steps.

Whoever is leading you doesn't speak, and you don't question following him. The ground seems to be roiling beneath you and it takes all of your limited concentration to just walk straight. Something is _very_ wrong.

Under the shadow of a tree, he gently pushes your shoulder to make you sit down, "W-"

"Ssh, just a moment." He circles behind you and puts both hands on your neck- one _shockingly_ cold. The warmer hand gently prods your skin, even sliding beneath the neck of your shirt as he feels around one side, then the other. He prods a spot at the nape of your neck intently, then pulls out a patch and sticks it on, "There you go, now we've got some privacy." It takes some time for you to connect the freshly shaved, short-haired brunette with the scruffy caveman from Wakanda- Bucky Barnes.

"I'm being followed," you warn.

The words come out slurred, and Bucky frowns. He has a messenger bag slung over one shoulder, and he pulls it over to look through as he replies, "No, you're not. The woman you came in with went east. Sam is trailing her. I've stalked a lot of people over the years, she wasn't concerned with keeping an eye on you _at all_. We think she's on her way to meet with whoever pulls her strings." He pulls out a black tube that tapers to a point at one end and a short square at the other, "Arm."

You let Bucky pull your arm out. His words are flowing to your ears slowly. You watch him touch the pointed end of the black device to your arm, see the flash of the needle as it pierces the skin over your thin veins, but it takes several seconds for the feeling to register.

The square end of the device, as it turns out, is a capped USB. Bucky fishes a tablet out of his bag and plugs the device into it. The screen lights up and immediately chimes back with a result. He frowns, then runs the test again. Whatever he sees makes him hesitate, "Alright, just hold on." He pulls something resembling an epi-pen out of the bag and jabs you in the leg.

"OW, DICK!" The words are out before you even know what's happening. With the needle comes instant relief from the dense fog shoving down on you. It's like surfacing for air after being held underwater.

"What the hell is Pierce doing to you in there?"

"Nothing. Jesus, I think you bruised something- like, _bone_."

He holds up the pen, "This is _pure adrenaline_. For emergency use _only_ , and you are reacting like I splashed cold water on you."

You just shake your head as the fog continues to clear, "I don't know, this is the first time that's happened."

"How long has it been happening?"

"The last half hour or so? Ever since my treatment ended."

"What treatment? Do you remember?"

 _The Avengers didn't tell me jack-shit._ You remember snapping at Steve over comms and immediately grow weary, "Medicines, a lot of weird little things. They dug my teeth out and put in robo-teeth Day 1. Stuff like that."

"I'm not above _anonymously_ dropping you off at a hospital if I need to. Your blood came back with _nothing_. No vitamins, no minerals, no nutrients, and you skin is-" he cuts himself off, then looks more closely at your eyes, "Were you tortured?"

"No?" You push him away, or try to- you forgot his left arm was metal, "Look, do you want to hear what I have to say or not?"

He takes his sweet time answering, but eventually nods- those fiercely observant eyes still taking in every last freckle, "Go ahead."

"Bishop is _definitely_ after Laura and the kids. I saw her accessing some kind of records bank inside the house. She found Laura's picture, that's about all I saw. More and more I keep hearing about this Cadmus, but I don't know what it is… And-" it's worth a shot, "-and I've also heard some whispers about something called 'Lazarus', but they stop talking when they realize I'm there."

Bucky's face falls at that, but he nods, "Lazarus is probably the most disgusting thing Hydra's ever invented. It's a machine that basically sucks the life out of someone- _slowly_ \- and dumps all that energy into someone else. I've seen it used once or twice."

"I think they were upset about using it?" You feel like you're going to be sick- and it has nothing to do with your current health issues.

"I always thought it was a sign of just how evil Lazarus was- even Hydra hated it. What it does to the people fed into it before they die… You don't forget something like that." His haunted expression says as much, "I was there when they demonstrated it for Pierce. Even _he_ couldn't stomach it."

You know he sees the dread and worry on your face. You know he has an idea already of exactly _what_ is wrong with you… And you know he's giving you space by pretending he doesn't.

"I've got some intel you should know," Bucky's voice is soft, sympathetic. "Whoever is shadowing you, it isn't Kate Bishop. They bought the _real_ Kate Bishop's identity and resume from a pretty big-name crime lord. It's safe to say she's after Laura and the kids too. Clint's pretty positive she's some kind of assassin."

"How does he know?"

"The _real_ Kate Bishop is Laura's little sister. The crime lord- apparently- is Clint's brother, but they like each other about as much as you like your grandfather. Whatever she's got planned, you've got to keep her distracted until you can get to Laura and get her out." He lets out a long, low whistle and hangs his head slightly, "We're doing everything we can to find a way in. We really are. We can't move on Fake-Bishop right now, but I want you to know that we absolutely _don't_ intend for this to get any more dangerous for you than it already is."

"Is it?" You raise an eyebrow, "I thought she was some Hydra bitch who would kill me the second I stepped out of line. Now you tell me she's just a _bitch_ who will kill me the second I step out of line. Either way, I was already in this alone."

Bucky doesn't miss the bitter tone in your voice, and he hasn't forgotten your last conversation with the Avengers ended in a _similar_ punch to the gut, "The docs in Wakanda knew the extent of your condition by day two. Ever since then, they've been working non-stop to figure out some kind of treatment. Steve didn't tell you because he didn't want to worry you, yeah, but also because he was hoping that by the time things got _really_ bad we'd have some kind of treatment figured out. No luck yet, but I thought you should know that. We're in your corner here, every last one of us. We won't let you go easy."

"Gee, thanks." You lean back against the tree.

"One more thing you should know- someone tagged you." He reaches over slowly and taps a moleskin patch on your neck- the one he put there before reviving you, "It lets them hear whatever you say and track you anywhere. I have it on a feedback loop right now, but as long as that's in there, we can't risk the comm Scott smuggled you."

"How did you know?" The only thing that surprises you is that you didn't notice being marked.

In response, Bucky leans in and pulls his right collar to the side, exposing a patch of rippled, scarred tissue on the nape of his own neck, "I know because I dug mine out with a spork the day I escaped Hydra. Before I even had a clear thought in my head, I knew to ditch it."

"It's either gramps, Silas, or Johanssen." You sigh, fighting back the urge to rub the patch. You think for a moment, "Bishop- I didn't _confront_ her, but I made it clear I didn't buy her story. She grabbed me there and I felt something sharp dig in… I thought she'd scratched me."

"She probably planted it herself then. _What_ is she? An assassin with Hydra tech- who for some reason seems to think you need to have a close eye kept on you." Bucky taps the tablet and glances down at the screen- even though it's black. "I don't want you to panic, but whatever's wrong with you- it might not be an accident or a side effect."

"You think she's using me as a distraction or something?" He nods, "What do I do?" You stretch your arms out experimentally, "They already feel stiff again."

There is nothing Bucky can do for you, and he knows it. The look he gives you is one of such incredible pity you want to slap him. You won't tolerate someone feeling _sorry_ for you, "I'm not going to let anything happen to you. I'll stay right here until Bishop comes back, and I'll be your shadow until you go back into that house. I won't let her get away with anything else."

"I'm scared," you murmur, then shoot a glare up at Bucky, "if you tell anyone that I'll kick your ass."

"Your secret is save with me," he slides over to sit next to you against the tree trunk, looking for all the world like your companion. "Next time I'll bring more supplies," he promises, tipping the bag so you can see that there are no more syringes inside.

"What do you think is wrong with me?"

A shadow falls over Bucky's face, "I don't know."

"But you have an idea?"

"I have an idea."

"Care to share?" Your heart is pounding in your ears.

Bucky unplugs the black device from the tablet and pulls out a case to slide it into, "I'll get this to the team, they'll figure it out."

"What is it?"

You'll never know that the only thing Bucky wants to do is warn you, but if he does you'll never set foot in that place again. He makes his face blank and answers your subsequent questions with one word answers, until the adrenaline fades from your system and you slide down into yourself once again.

"What is it?" he whispers as he pulls the patch off your neck and wipes away any trace of the adhesive, "It's a trap." He sighs and stands up. He checks Sam's position- Bishop is three miles away, angling towards the park. He has little doubt that she's tracking you.

Before she arrives, he's faded away to watch from a safe distance. To the assassin's credit, she looks worried as she scans the park, sees you slumped against the tree, and rushes over to check your pulse. With a lot of pulling and a sharp, cracking slap across the face she manages to get you to stand up and stumble along under her guidance back towards the parking lot.

"If anything happens to her, you die first." Bucky makes the vow under his breath, but Bishop stiffens and turns. From the other end of the park, there's no way in hell she can hear him. Still, in looking over her shoulder Bucky could have _sworn_ she looked straight at him.


	13. Chapter 13

**Trigger Warnings** : I'm trying something new for this chapter, since there _is_ a trigger warning, but the chapter is kind of _very_ important to the story. The trigger warning is for "Coercion/Rape" (More on the coercion side), so what I'm going to do is put an in-story warning.

So, before that sequence begins, you'll see **TRIGGER WARNING,** and after that scene ends, you will see **SAFE** (It'll be more pronounced than that). Let me know if this works for you/doesn't work for you, if there are no complaints it's how I'll handle trigger warnings in the future.

 **Chapter 13**

Bishop can't get her heart to stop pounding. She'd been honked through every green light on the drive back to the base- Pierce's house- but even as she pulled up to the house itself and the gate closed behind her she wasn't sure she wanted to bring you _here_.

 _It started before we got to the park._ She told herself, _(Y/N) wasn't anywhere near that dealer…_

Still, she was terrified as she called for help and ran around to your side of the car. You were listless, your eyes were half-open but as far as Bishop could tell you hadn't blinked in several minutes. Your skin was white as a sheet, with a decidedly yellow tinge that only deepened on the ride back. Your breathing was shallow, rapid, and honestly she couldn't tell if you were high or if something else had happened.

To his credit, your grandfather had waited until Johanssen had begun to fervently draw samples of blood and tissue before ordering Bishop to strip-search you for drugs. She'd found a small injection site on your thigh, but a harsh scrape from a sharp nail did enough to obscure one pinprick of blood among three others. She brushed it off as a mistake made by a nervous (no, _terrified_ ) Agent who still didn't know if her charge was high or sick.

You will never know how tense that first hour was after you were brought home, and you will never fully appreciate the amount of fear that gave Bishop her shaking hands as you open your eyes in Johanssen's examination room.

"Welcome back," Johanssen is smiling kindly even as he sets a tray filled with nearly a dozen needles beside you and begins injecting them into your IV at a dangerous speed.

"What. Was. That?" Your jaw is locked and you speak slowly through gritted teeth.

"We aren't entirely sure, to be honest." Johanssen looks back at his computer, "Your tissue samples aren't terribly reassuring, but your blood is clear of any foreign substances, so it wasn't poison."

"I. Could. Have. Told. You. I. Didn't. Take. Anything."

Bishop lets out her breath just loudly enough that Pierce shoots her a stern look. She swallows hard as soon as he looks away- it was _her_ job to make sure you didn't. Showing her nerves all but tells your grandfather outright that she wasn't watching you.

"Well, we couldn't very well _ask_ , could we?" Doctor Johanssen does his best to diffuse the tension in the room. He digs through the tray of syringes and picks up one from near the bottom, "Here, give this a minute to kick in, then try speaking again."

"Will my granddaughter be alright?" Pierce asks sharply.

"I believe so," Johanssen nods, "her coloring is improving, she's awake and alert, it looks like she's heading in the right direction."

You can feel the muscles of your jaw beginning to relax and begin trying to pry apart your teeth using your tongue. You can tell Johanssen isn't saying everything- but that's nothing new. He's saving his real report for a more private discussion.

"How much longer do you need to run your tests?" Pierce asks.

"Once I've got this all finished up I'll give it an hour or two and re-run the tests, but I'm optimistic (Y/N) will be sleeping in her own bed tonight." He smiles.

Your grandfather comes to you and puts a hand on your head, "I'm sorry, you know I'd stay, but I have a very important meeting. I'll come see you afterwards." He doesn't even look back at Bishop, "I need you on hand downstairs during this dinner. Around two in the morning you will be relieved. Until then, I want (Y/N) to remain in the lab. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir." Bishop stands up straight.

"Good, you are dismissed- eat quickly and report to Sector 7." Bishop immediately leaves the room with only a small glance back at you.

You open and close your mouth a few times, chasing away the last of the stiffness, "You're making me stay in here?"

"Half the night," he nods. "Just until Bishop is done with her rotation." He looks at you as though he wants to say more, but with a heavy sigh he simply nods, pats your head once, and leaves.

"Looks like it's you and me tonight, kid." Johanssen forces a smile.

"Oh goodie."

* * *

In his defense, Johanssen isn't exactly _young_.

He vanishes for a few minutes as his tests are processed and returns with two plates of food from the kitchens. What gives you strength seems to take the legs right out from under him. He manages another hour of work, verifying that your blood levels are staying where they should and there is no repeat episode on the near horizon, but once the work is done his full stomach gets the best of him.

It's not even ten when he starts to slump in his chair.

By eleven, his snoring has reached impressive volume.

You slide off the examination chair quietly and tiptoe to the door, listening all the while for any sign the doctor is waking up. Instead of opening the door and sticking your head out into the hallway, you drop down and peer beneath the door as best you can.

Nothing.

This could be your only chance to sneak into the cells and find Laura and the kids. Your only chance to _at least_ make contact, if not throw caution to the wind, grab them, and either smuggle them out in the trunks of whatever cars brought Pierce's visitors into the compound or say "Fuck all" and ram a car straight through the gates.

But first things first.

You slip over to Johanssen's desk and carefully peer around his arms and shoulders, looking for a key to the medical supply cabinet. There are papers and files littering the surface, but you spy their metal ring poking out from the doctor's breast pocket.

 _At least fabric is quieter than paper…_

You hold your breath and listen to him even more cautiously as you will your hand to be still, pinch the end of the ring between two nails and slowly draw it up and out.

The key goes in quietly enough, but opening the cabinet makes a loud _click_ that for the briefest of moments seems to interrupt his snores. You throw the door open and quickly scan the shelves for what you need- Klonopin. Sweat beads on your brow as you take the tiny glass vial reverently in your hand. Your eyes water and your mouth goes dry. You swallow hard, unable to pull your eyes from the clear liquid inside- that is, until another ear-shattering snore rips out of Johanssen.

As quickly as you can, you search through the drawers of the room until you find one filled with syringes of all shapes and sizes. You quickly pull one out, remove it from the sterilized paper, and pop the cap. Filling the needle is easy- you know well enough what doses give what highs, how much is too much, and what is guaranteed to knock someone out on their ass. Once the needle is full and the cap replaced, however, the challenge begins. You still feel sick as you wipe the vial down with a sleeve of your shirt and return it- fingerprint free- to the cabinet. Turning the key back in the lock is a little harder. Dropping the keys back into Johanssen's pocket takes more willpower than you'd like to admit.

But the next part is a new level of torture. You slip the needle up your sleeve so that the cold plastic rests on your wrist- taunting you, _reminding_ you that it is there. It was so easy to find- doesn't that mean you're meant to have it? It's their fault, after all. The day was impossibly hard- Bucky said _torture_! He said it looked like you'd been tortured- which wasn't in the books when you made the deal with your grandfather. Besides- it was meth you promised to stay away from, not the sedatives. There would be other opportunities, other chances to save Laura and the kids-

Laura and the kids.

Before you even knew what you were doing you'd coughed, just loud enough to wake Johanssen from his slumber.

"Wh- oh, sorry, Jesus, did I fall asleep?" He rubs his eyes and peers at a small clock on his desk. He yawns loudly and groans softly as he realizes he still has three hours before he can go to bed.

"I was just going to try and sleep myself." You let the strain in your voice make the point for you and start to settle before you feign hesitation, "Is it alright if I kick my shoes off? I don't want to stink bomb you or anything, it's fine if you'd rather I not-"

"No, hey, good idea." Johanssen nods, giving his ok, "I'll join you." He kicks his shoes off in a show of solidarity.

As pungent as the room becomes, you pull your shoes off and set them beside the chair, smiling appreciatively before you snuggle down in the seat. Johanssen checks the keys in his pocket before laying his head back on his desk- this time turned so that there is no way for you to get at them without waking him.

You wait for the snores to begin again before you move.

You grab a pen from his desk and cautiously kneel before the doctor. Slowly, achingly slowly, you slide the pen beside his big toe and push it away from the one beside it. It doesn't even move half an inch, nothing anyone would really notice, but just enough.

The day the Avengers pulled you off the streets ( _tazed_ you off the streets), you'd brought a dealer back to your room to show you some newer, quicker ways to get high. He'd shown you how to hold your toes, where to pinch to distract the nerves, and where, in the soft skin between them, to sink a needle in with minimal pain and maximum effect.

You would never be thankful for that lesson- not considering what he'd taken from you after you were too far gone to stop him- but in a strange way you feel slightly _less_ homicidal towards him as you quickly slide the needle into Johanssen's foot and inject the sedative.

His foot jerks back at the small bite of pain, but you are moving faster than he is. The jolt of pain sets off a reaction that made him snap awake- but by the time he opens his eyes and looks around you are back in the chair with the needle- now without its cap and jabbing _painfully_ into your wrist- hidden once more.

"Are you alright Doctor Johanssen?" You look as though you were shocked awake by his own outburst.

"Yeah, I- I think something bit me." His tongue sounds thick in his mouth. His words slur slightly on the end. "I'm… I'm fine. Sorry. I think… I think I'm just…" he mumbles something that might be the end to the sentence, but his body seems to sag more with every exhale until once again he is asleep on the desk- this time without the snoring.

You reach over with your left hand, close your eyes, and yank the needle out of your arm. You roll up your sleeve and inspect the damage- it's shallow, but it'll definitely leave a blood bruise. The thought gives you pause, but there isn't time to worry about how that mark will be interpreted in the morning. The cap of the needle is by the desk still, and you hastily run over to grab it before dumping both into a receptacle.

Once again, you return to the door to peer beneath it into the hallway. It still appears to be empty, so you dare to open the door. Whoever came to see your grandfather must be important- you spy the backs of several guards in the more formal side of the house- but they are too far to hear you.

The metal door hidden down the hall is the only entrance you're familiar with, but there is no way for you to know how to get in easily- and you aren't about to risk some sort of alarm going off if you fuck up. It's not the only way though, it can't be.

Johanssen's office is oblong, with a few rooms jutting off the sides. Growing up, there was a wall where the door now sat- certainly no physician was in any sort of permanent residence for the main house, yet this was _clearly_ a lab, and judging by the scuffing and scratches on the baseboards, it wasn't new. If this room belonged to the Hydra base, your grandfather must have had another access point in the lab itself, hopefully one a bit less high-tech.

You quickly look back into the other office- nothing stands out to suggest a door. Next you check the machinery end of the laboratory- Johanssen was in it often enough, but you'd never actually gone beyond the Lazarus machine near the door. Pipes rise up and run along the ceiling, so you follow them back behind a shelf of quick-grab first aid packs and-

Bingo.

There is a section of wall that is slightly different from the rest. There are bubbles in the paint, as though it were slapped on a surface not exactly made to be painted. You press on it and the wall slides out with a soft _click_. A breath of cold air flutters your hair and exposes an elevator.

It's large enough to fit a gurney in, but not much more. You slide in, shivering at the clinical chill in the air. You were dragged into a closet and down a flight of stairs to get to the base. This elevator has buttons going down to sub-level _seven_. It doesn't seem _possible_.

You choose the button marked S5-P1, and just pray that the "P" stands for "Prison". As the elevator hums to life, you press yourself against the wall by the doors, just in case the "P" was an abbreviation for "Positively crammed full of armed guards", or maybe "People infested". At least a Prison might have fewer Hydra agents than barracks, research, or a mess hall (if you're reading the abbreviations right).

Too soon for your liking, there is a soft _ding_ and the doors slide open. You press a button to hold them and listen. There is no sound of boots scuffing in the hall, no murmurs, no sound of any kind. Carefully, you poke your head around the corner and take a look.

Given where your mental map puts you in the overall geography of the grounds, and how long the hallway in front of you is- you estimate the base goes all the way to the damn fence and _then_ some. You step out and turn side to side, inspecting the cross-hall as well. This one's even longer. The enormity of the base that existed beneath your feet all these years hits you like a ton of bricks and actually _winds_ you for a moment. You feel so very small stuck inside the web of a massive, unforgiving spider. If your eyes didn't fall on the sign spray-painted to the concrete wall, you would have jumped back in that elevator and gone back up to the lab.

CELL BLOCK 1

The elevator beckons, but the sign- and your duty- calls. Also, the doors slide shut behind you and no matter how frantically you slap at them, you can't find a way to get them open again. That puts a distinct damper on any plans for a retreat.

When the elevator whirls to life and leaves for another floor, fear takes over. Maybe you didn't give Johanssen enough, maybe someone came in and found him, maybe you're on a security camera and guards are descending right this fucking second.

You don't wait to find out. You simply push yourself against the right hand wall and follow the damn arrow, coming up with a million excuses per second as to why you came down here- half of which include peeing yourself and crying hard enough to make _everyone_ so uncomfortable they mentally block out the whole thing.

Because Hydra's totally known for that.

Halfway down the hall another intersection presents itself- and you turn right to follow the arrow. Around the point where you decide you must be just about under the driveway, the hall ends in a long row of doors close together. A digital plaque is on the wall beside each door. There are two blank screens between every one with text, but the one before you reads "Prisoner 1-D: Sanitize". The door is slightly ajar, and you dare to slide it open far enough to see a cot against the wall.

A sheet is laying over what you're betting is Prisoner 1-D, or what's left of them. Parts of the body are too small and thin to be a human body, while others bulge out in unnatural and grotesque shapes. Blood and fluids have seeped through the cloth everywhere, and the _stench_ -

God, that stench is something you will never, _ever_ , be able to forget. Sweet and cloying like rotted meat coated in sweat and excrement. Your eyes water and you gag. You jump back and _slam_ the door, then take loud, noisy gasps of air to try and clear out your lungs. It feels like the smell is _clinging_ to you.

"Who's down there?" A voice- a _disgustingly_ familiar voice- echoes from somewhere far away.

You curse yourself soundly (but silently) and _immediately_ bolt away from the door. Your heart rate explodes and adrenaline floods your veins as you dash down the hall at full speed. You can hear the sound of boots on metal, and you're more than thankful you're in your socks. As you pass the doors with occupants listed, you automatically scan the plaques- "Prisoner 1-C", "Prisoner 1-B", "Prisoner 1-A: Barton"

Barton.

 _BARTON!_

You skid to a stop, then glance quickly to the hall behind you. Any second now Silas will round the corner, but you can't walk away, not when you're this close-

Someone grabs you from behind and claps a hand over your mouth. They drag you backwards into a service tunnel that goes back twenty feet or so, filled with pipes and tubes. You're slammed against the wall quietly enough to avoid making _more_ noise but hard enough that a bar in the wall bruises your chest, " _What the fuck are you doing down here?!"_ someone hisses.

You're whipped around and come face to face with Kate Bishop.

Two floors up from where Pierce sent her to stand guard.

She's in all black, with her gun at her hip- plus six knives on her legs, a series of long slivers of metal around her wrist you're fairly positive are lock picks, and a heavy looking leather bag filled with _god knows_ how many tools.

"I'll scream," you warn, eyes wide. "I'll make enough noise that they find us _both_."

"Do that and we die!"

"It's better than you killing them!" Bishop actually takes a step back at that, surprised, "Yeah, I know what you are!" you keep your voice quiet, you can hear the footsteps retreating as your pursuer tries a side tunnel.

"What I- what am I?" Bishop looks you up and down, "What are _you_?" Her eyes flick to the cell door, but the footsteps are returning slowly. The mission is blown.

"You were planning on breaking in and killing them yourself!" You hiss, "I don't care if we both go down- I have a shot of talking my way out of it. You won't." You're actually pretty sure attracting attention would get you _both_ programmed in that horrific room, but if you're going down, you're going down cocky.

"You complete _idiot_!" Bishop pulls you further into the side tunnel to buy yourselves some time, "We have the same goddamn mission!"

 _That_ makes you blink, "What?"

"I'm not trying to hurt them- I'm trying to _get them out_."

"No-"

"Who do you work for?" Bishop stares at you intently.

"I don't work for anyone!" You snap, suddenly remembering what Bucky told you about the thing in your neck. Bishop could be recording this conversation for who knows what- this could all be a trap, "I was a prisoner of this place too once. They tried to program me- I won't let anyone else go through that!" A lone crusader was a good enough disguise. Bishop was some assassin sent to murder Laura Barton and her kids- you weren't about to give away your status as an Avengers collaborator to _that_ kind of monster.

She looks you up and down again, then slowly moves back. She isn't buying any of it, but she's running out of time to argue. Bishop flinches at the sound of boots on the ground and quickly fishes around inside her suit for something. Hands shaking, she holds out a piece of paper for you to see.

In it you can make out a young Clint among a dozen or so agents- probably back in his earliest days at SHIELD. It appears to be some sort of party. You spot a familiar face standing apart from the group- the infamous Black Widow- but on the opposite end of the group from Clint is-

You look from Bishop down to the younger version of her, standing among all of their SHIELD colleagues, "Those are _Avengers_." You play dumb and point to Clint and the Black Widow, "You- you're SHIELD?"

Bishop takes a deep breath and snatches back the picture to slide into her breast pocket, "Now will you believe me when I say we have the _same damn mission_?!"

Your mind is swimming- did an assassin buy Kate Bishop's identity, or did a SHIELD agent need it to go undercover? You glance back to the hallway, the boots are quiet and slow. Silas is listening for any sound to give away your position, but he's still there. Your heart pounds in your chest, "I don't know if I can trust you." You mouth the words more than speak them.

" _Please_." Bishop looks to the edge of Laura's cell door with incredible pity and sadness- so close, but now she would be prisoners just as much as her target. Was Laura waiting inside with an ear to the door? Did she know how close she'd gotten to freedom?

Agent Bishop could be very, very cunning- or completely innocent. You don't have time to decide. She braces for a fight- not that she has any chance of taking on the man about to round the corner before he sets off every alarm and seals everyone in.

You look around the walls of the tunnel- they are lined with pipes coming out of the service ports, and where they all meet the wall there is a maze of them. A maze with a narrow channel just thin enough to _maybe_ make _one_ person less glaringly obvious standing in the corner. Bishop steps forward, but you grab her by the back of her suit and shove her towards the wall. She stumbles and stops halfway into the gap between pipe sections. One fierce look from you sends her sliding through willingly. It's a tight fit, but it has to be enough.

You run halfway back down the service tunnel, just far enough to lean on the far wall, facing Bishop, and wait for Silas to reach the corridor. You quickly reach up and deliver two vicious pinches to your nipples, then smooth down your shirt a moment before he walks into sight.

"Took you long enough." You force a smile, drawing Silas' eye immediately.

He draws his sidearm and your eyes go wide. You hold your hands up in mock surrender until his eyes adjust to the dim service corridor and he realizes who you are, "(Y/N)? What are you doing down here?" His voice is hard.

"Looking for _you_." You put your hands down and smile softly, hopefully, "I couldn't sleep, thought you might help burn off some steam?"

"What are you doing _down here_?" he repeats, but holsters his gun all the same.

"You said you'd be watching- I couldn't go up to the guest room, so I waited until Johanssen fell asleep and found the door to the elevator."

Silas is _paid_ to not buy your story- not without all the details, "And you're on _this floor_ specifically because-?"

You shrug, "I saw it started with a 'P' and thought it might mean 'Private'? When I saw the sign on the wall that said 'Cell Block' I knew I was probably in the right place. Prisons don't have a lot of people roaming the hallways to interrupt."

"Right place? For what _precisely_?" He accepts your story- for now. You know he will be checking security cameras the _second_ you're back upstairs, so you gave him the best story to fit what he would see… You just hoped that tunnel was a dead zone and Bishop was subtle when she grabbed you.

You smile slyly and beckon him closer. Silas obeys. You lean in and whisper quietly, "A repeat of last time?" Your body recoils at the thought now- after you've seen the horrific remains in cell 1-D and within sight of your objective in 1-A, but if Silas sees Bishop it's over for _both_ of you- he'll know you were hiding her for whatever reason and if he finds that picture-

It doesn't matter if she's here to save Laura Barton for SHIELD or kill her for some crime lord. _Both_ of you have to make it back upstairs as best you can. So you tip forward further and run your tongue along Silas' ear. You're pressed against him so closely that you can _feel_ the response that elicits in his groin.

 _Just a quick fingering_ , you promise yourself, _just a few minutes. You can do this._

Your stomach churns as Silas leans back far enough for his mouth to find yours and presses you hard against the wall. His tongue shoves its way past your lips and you open your mouth to accommodate it even as he grabs your hips and lifts you up. Now he has you pinned against the wall, and you wrap your legs around his waist instinctively. A hand slides up your shirt and under your bra to grab your breast. The pinch you'd delivered was just _barely_ enough to fake arousal, and he buys it.

Silas' mouth leaves yours and he begins trailing kisses down your neck. You begin breathing hard, moaning slightly. You lift two fingers off of Silas' back and wave them slightly, fixing your eyes on Agent Bishop in the corner.

She gets the message immediately.

The heavy breathing and groans are as much cover as you can give her right now. Silas' head is buried in your neck as he pushes you harder into the wall- he can't see her as she slips out from the corner and edges her way behind him, bag in hand.

Bishop watches you all the way- a silent question in her eyes. She hesitates behind Silas.

 _No_ , you shoo her with your eyes, since even moving your head might draw Silas' attention back up. You run a hand through his hair and hold him to you, buying her more time as your heart pounds, _Don't try to help me, just go_.

Mercifully, she gets the message loud and clear. Pity and pain are evident on Bishop's face, but she forces herself to slip into the hallway. She holds her hand to her lips and gently touches the door to cell 1-A, a promise, then slips away as quietly and as quickly as possible.

"I need it," you groan, eager to end this as quickly as possible, "please-"

"No." Silas pulls his mouth from your neck. His breathing is labored, "You aren't supposed to be down here- for _any_ reason." When he looks up at you, his eyes are lit with a mixture of mischief and malice, "You think you can just go wherever you want, whenever you want, and there won't be any consequences?" His arms wrap around you and hold you to him tightly. He pulls you away from the wall and walks to one of the nearby cells without anything on the door.

 **0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0 TRIGGER WARNING** **0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

It gives easily, and Silas slides you down until your feet are on the ground. He shoves you- not gently- into the dark room. The lights click on as he follows you inside and closes the door.

On the interior of the cell is a small metal box. Silas pulls out a keycard and touches it to the surface. The metal slides up to reveal a keypad. He types something in and the door locks.

The cell isn't as small as you thought from your glance into 1-D. It holds a cot, a fold-down toilet, enough space to pace maybe five steps in any direction, and a sink. You're looking around, fear making your chest tight, as Silas types something else into the keypad. There is a sound of metal sliding and you look up as two manacles drop from a panel in the ceiling.

Your stomach clenches, "Silas-"

"You have no idea how many nights I've thought about bringing you here," he wraps his arms around you and sucks on your earlobe. He grinds his crotch against your back as he slowly pushes you forward into the room- towards those manacles. "I'm going to do whatever I want, however I want- that's your punishment for coming down into _my_ lair without permission."

" _Silas_ , I'm not comfortable with-"

"Oh?" He steps back and you turn to face him, "Well, I _was_ offering this as an alternative, but if you _want_ me to go get Pierce and tell him you were wandering around down here- I guess _his_ punishment won't be as nice." He makes a face, "At least, I'd _hope_ not…"

Silas walks to the sink and grabs the ratty towel. He pulls a knife from his picket and cuts it in half length-wise, then sets the blade aside and rips the scraps in two, "Which would you prefer?" he holds out the two pieces, forcing you to submit to _him_ or to the inevitable Hydra interrogators your grandfather would sic on you.

You glare at him with pure contempt as you take the scraps and wind them around your wrist to protect your skin from the metal cuffs above. You hold up an arm and Silas shakes his head, amused, "Take everything off the upper half first. It's been a long time since I've seen all of you..."

You obey, shaking from more than just the chill of the room. He carefully secures your arms above you- mindful to line up the towel with the shackles so there will be no marks.

"What's the safe word?" You ask, voice shaking.

Silas' grin is even broader as his hand traces down towards your hips, "Don't worry, we won't do anything you didn't let a hundred dealers do already." he squeezes your ass through your jeans.

"Lieutenant, I need you in Sector 7, corridor G." Bishop's breathless voice is just barely audible from Silas' earpiece. She must have run all the way back to where she was supposed to be on guard, "It's urgent, I think someone-"

Silas smiles and taps his comm unit even as he begins kicking off his shoes and unbuttoning his black shirt, "I'm busy with another matter, you'll just have to handle this one yourself."

"But sir-"

" _I'm busy, Agent Bishop_. Deal with it or I will send someone to deal with _you_." Silas turns off his mic, pulls the earpiece out, and sets it beside his knife on the sink, "No more interruptions." He smiles and steps towards you.

* * *

 **0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0 SAFE** **0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

He takes you as far as the hallway before kissing you roughly and sending you up to your room, where Bishop is now waiting.

She takes one look at you as you slowly shuffle in. Her eyes immediately size up the short, deliberate gait, the deathly pale tint of your skin, your too-wide eyes, and the tremor in your hands as you wring them. "The whole time?" it's been more than two hours since you waved her past Silas.

You nod, then push past her towards the bathroom and- most importantly- the shower.

Bishop touches three fingers to your elbow and you stop, "No part of my plans include that _monster_ surviving."

"Ours too." You give her that much- a confirmation of her suspicions that you're part of a larger team- as a repayment of whatever debt you owe her for at least trying to stop it.

"Silas put a tracker on you. He can hear everything you say. I- I saw the mark after he pulled you into the guest room."

It's stupid, but knowing for sure that she knew what Silas had done before almost takes the air out of you again. You don't look at her, you just hang your head.

"I can't take it out- he'd know,and he'd kill us both... Just- don't say anything he can use against you or your partners."

You nod and walk into the bathroom, locking the door behind you. Bishop pulls something out of her pocket- a small black earbud almost identical to the one the Avengers slipped to you. She turns it on and slides it in, looking at her watch. Twenty seconds- that's the longest she can safely take to send a message without Hydra intercepting.

"Like we thought, (Y/N) is an agent of some third party. How should I proceed?"

"Arrange a meeting with her team. If they're friendly, I'll know."

"If not?" Bishop lets her nerves show in her voice. She doesn't have the same metal in her veins as her leader.

"We put them down."


	14. Chapter 14

**Trigger Warnings: None**

Chapter 14

"What the hell do you mean 'she isn't coming down'?" Pierce snaps at Bishop as she stands by the door, hands in her pockets.

Bishop can only shrug helplessly, "(Y/N) says she doesn't trust the Lazarus, not after what it did to her yesterday." She forces her eyes to stay locked coolly on Pierce. It requires almost as much effort as it does for her to stand in a room across from Silas and not shoot him in the face… or the dick.

"She agreed to take these treatments, no matter how unpleasant." Silas snaps.

"She needs a day," Bishop shakes her head, "just one day off, that's all she's asking, and I agree with her. When Johanssen sent her up last night she was a _wreck_. She didn't sleep all night- as you can tell." She gestures to herself, emphasizing the deep purple bags under her eyes, her pale skin, and the general air of exhaustion surrounding her.

It's true- you _hadn't_ slept all night. Not a wink. You sat up until Bishop went downstairs for this very meeting talking to the woman- deciding what _her_ response should be to what Silas did. Or, rather, what her response _shouldn't_ be. Your grandfather would never believe a guard over _Silas_ if any accusations of impropriety were made, and in your current condition it'd be easy enough to convince Pierce that anything _you_ say against the man is done from some drug-crazed hallucination. Bishop can't act as witness because as far as _she_ is supposed to know she was on guard duty, she went upstairs, and you came in from Johanssen's lab. As for Johanssen- he could be killed by Pierce for falling asleep on the job and letting you wander off unescorted, and if they find out he was drugged it would only lead to _more_ questions neither you nor Bishop was prepared to answer.

So the plan was this- act like nothing happened last night. The door to your bedroom is locked and you aren't opening it for anyone _but_ Bishop, and find a way to set up a meeting with the Avengers and whoever Bishop works for.

"Johanssen? Does my granddaughter have any reason to be afraid of these treatments?" Pierce pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes, willing his patience to last.

Of those in the room, only Silas is supposed to know the truth of how you walked up to bed. Johanssen is still willing to pretend _he_ sent you up, and it gives him a defensive air not entirely out of place with his report, "I've never seen anything like what happened to (Y/N). It's like the Lazarus… _backfired_. It didn't do any permanent damage- at least nothing life-threatening- but it took a nibble out of her, I'm fairly positive. I have scientists and engineers pouring over the connections right now to see what caused it. As much as I hate to lose a day now that we're started, I said (Y/N)'s health would enter fatal stages after a few _months_. Losing one day won't put us off schedule. If anything it gives our people time to make sure the device is safe."

Pierce considers it, "Bishop, take (Y/N) off-property for the day. Tell her it's an apology for how yesterday turned out. Me acknowledging things went wrong. If she leaves though, she's agreeing to _never_ miss another appointment. Is that clear?"

"Crystal." Bishop pulls her hands from her pockets and nods, heart pounding.

"You're dismissed." She leaves the room, carefully measuring her pace to not appear too eager. Pierce looks to Silas, "My meeting with General Ryker went well last night. He is willing to send more of his Gifted soldiers to remain here in residence."

"You really think the Avengers are going to make a play without securing the hostages first?"

Pierce nods, "I know you believe I am overestimating the threat they pose, but I'd rather assume they decide to approach their situation as Hydra would- weigh all those so-called 'innocent' lives against Mrs. Barton and her brood, and attack anyways. They have the Winter Soldier, I don't care if I have to leave a lieutenant or three out in the cold when Doomsday comes, their sacrifice is worth it if it means Cadmus is secured to go ahead as planned."

"I'll make the arrangements," Silas nods.

"I'll get back to work." Johanssen calls as both men turn and leave without another word.

* * *

You sit alone in a booth at the back of the dingy restaurant, giving off that special air of "Fuck You" that's uniquely yours, guaranteed to even keep the waiter away as you nurse a mug of coffee that _arrived_ burnt and cold.

Bishop is long gone- off to prepare for the meet. It has to happen while you're out for the day, so neither has time to prepare, to plot, to scheme. Your side chooses the location and time, her side will come when notified. It was one of the things you'd discussed that long, sleepless night.

What Silas had done in that cell… he wasn't wrong when he said it wasn't something you'd _allowed_ dealers before him to do as a form of payment. But that was the key, wasn't it? _Allowed_. Silas han't given you any choice, and whenever you told him "No", he hadn't backed down. Another rape. Another scar on your soul- a scar your tired, fractured mind was far too willing to black out.

Any time you let your mind consider what happened you feel a gaping maw open in your stomach- a sick, wrenching feeling that made the darkest corners of your mind whisper. The same maw that seems stronger if you let yourself consider the body of Prisoner 1-D, what Bucky had said about Lazarus, and what you knew deep down: A Barton was dead. Undoubtedly one of the children.

Did Laura know- did she know how close she was to being saved last night? Did she know what happened in the empty cell next to hers? How Silas typed on that keypad over and over again to summon various restraints and tools usually reserved for torture? Did she hear you scream as he took what he wanted and watched you for long stretches of time, playing as he wished?

That maw opens again and you quickly take a drink of the rancid coffee.

"I _promise_ we can offer better." A bearded black man slips into the chair across from you with an amiable grin. His voice is deep and gruff, and you immediately fix him with a cold glair.

"Fuck yourself with a lead pipe."

"Now that's just cold." The deep voice vanishes, replaced with one a bit higher and infinitely more familiar. Beneath his disguise, Sam winks at you.

You blink hard. He's got a false beard, and there must be padding beneath his clothes to hide his athletic form, but even through the wig on top of his head and the false teeth, you can see the familiar, kind crinkle of his eyes. The disguise is almost perfect, "S-sorry, I didn't recognize you _at all_." You pull your defenses up to hide the pain in your eyes, unwilling to answer any questions about the night before.

"I don't blame you, this disguise is perfect." Sam smiles proudly, "Steve thought a baseball cap and a hoodie would have been fine. That guy's not the brightest bulb." He leans forward on the table and eyes the back door, "What do you say? Want coffee that's at least warm?"

"Lead the way."

* * *

Clint hits the ground _hard_ and rolls a good ten feet before Wanda manages to latch on to him with her power and stop his body. Her exit from the trunk of the moving bus is more dignified, and she walks casually to her friend as her power snaps back. He groans and curses the whole time it takes him to stand, "Well that was _fun_."

"I could have blown out the tire or locked up the wheels," Wanda reminds him. They are hidden by the cloud of road dust that kicks up behind the bus as it speeds away. Still, she pulls Clint over to a storm drain and they slide down towards the edge of the lake, well out of sight of the road.

"Then they'd have stopped the bus to see what was wrong, and frankly I was sick of being wedged between people's shit."

"Whine, whine, whine, Wanda, I don't know how you put up with him." Bucky steps out from the drain just as they reach the edge

Wanda smirks, "Every day is a new trial."

"How far's the base?" Clint ignores Bucky's attempt at lighthearted conversation. He's in the same city as Laura, so incredibly close. Can she feel it, somehow? Can the kids feel it? Their nightmare is no closer to being over, but all Clint can do is blindly pray they at least have some kind of _hope_.

"Twenty minutes that way." Bucky jerks his head back up the road, "Your bus passed it on the way into town."

"Good," Wanda interrupts before Clint can say anything about wasted time or suggest they do something stupid like jog there, "we could both stand to stretch a bit after two days." She rubs her back to emphasize how stiff and sore it is. She takes a step and a jolt goes up from her hip into her spine- maybe the suggestion was a bit selfish, but judging by the wince on Clint's face she knows he feels it too.

"Any updates from (Y/N)?" Clint asks as he forces himself to walk.

"It's funny you should say that," he doesn't sound particularly optimistic, "Sam's bringing her in right now."

Wanda almost stops, "Why?"

"We don't know. Scott saw her leaving the base with Fake-Bishop, then the spy slipped out and left her alone. Sam says she wants to talk with all of us."

"What do you think it's about?" Clint asks.

Bucky sighs, "Yesterday Bishop cloaked her movements, made (Y/N) think she was being followed. This time she takes her to a shitty restaurant and blatantly leaves her. Something changed last night. I'll bet you anything Bishop is trying to convince (Y/N) we all need to sit down and have a nice, friendly ambush."

"You mean 'meeting'?" Wanda casts Bucky a raised eyebrow.

"Same thing."

Clint hates the idea, but he doesn't entirely want to dismiss it offhand. A chance to see who this 'Bishop' person really is? Who she really works for? "Are we at that point? The risking-new-allies point?"

Bucky only looks to him, "That's all up to you. We're with you whatever you decide, and we'll keep you from doing anything stupid- but it's a dice roll now. Either Bishop really is clean and there is no point in our two organizations remaining separate, or Bishop is an assassin who mistook (Y/N) for a sympathizer to her cause… _or_ she _is_ Hydra and this is all a trap to find out who (Y/N) allied herself with."

Clint hangs his head, but keeps walking, "I'll decide once I hear what she has to say."

"We'll follow your lead. You're the boss."

Clint's heart pounded painfully as he walked away from Laura and his kids and back to the edge of the city. It was stupid- they were underground half an hour's drive from his position, he was no more able to go get them right now than he was capable of controlling the sun above, but it physically pained him to backtrack, "I'm not sure I'll have the clearest head."

"It does not matter," Wanda patted him on the shoulder, "you have us for that."

* * *

"How are you? You ok?" Clint greets you with a bear hug.

"I'm ok," you say softly, "I'm alive." Your gut twists sharply at the thought of that body in the cell, but you push it back and pull the neck of your shirt aside for a moment to show him the patch blocking out _Silas'_ listening device.

Bucky wraps his metal arm around your thin shoulders in a half-hug, then hesitates. His eyes flick to your wrists, still red from last night, then up your arms to meet your own eyes. He knows. You don't want to know how much he's figured out, but the trained Hydra assassin is pretty damn good at putting the clues together. He sighs, "His death won't be pretty."

"Promise?" You shake Wanda's hand, the only Avenger you haven't met of the little crew, and head back into the loft.

Bucky had wanted a warehouse, something low-profile with lots of piles of concrete and rebar to be used as emergency weapons. Sam wanted to camp in the woods, off the grid entirely, since Hydra _and_ Stark might come looking for them. Steve wanted a dingy motel where no one might look twice at the group and where it wouldn't look too suspicious for an ex-junkie to be crawling around if you came to deliver reports.

They'd discussed it at length in Wakanda, and T'Challa had offered to help find the right place while the Avengers were en-route.

The King ordered for them a large, open loft near the edge of town. It was a very hipster-esque neighborhood, lots of rotted buildings being gutted to fit high-end shops and homes- but it still tended towards the rougher side after dark. The loft was all exposed brick with thick carpets, a minimalist kitchen, three bedrooms, glass and wood panels that slid along the floor to serve as adjustable walls, and a 360 degree view of the surrounding city. Not that it was anything you'd want to see.

You accept a mug of coffee from Sam (as promised- hot) and lead the Avengers over to a large empty space that was probably supposed to be a sitting area. Only when everyone was sitting on the floor with you do you start to talk.

"Last night I got close," you tell Clint, and he sucks in his breath, "like, I could have touched the door of her cell. They have Laura divided off from the kids-" that painful maw opens again, "-the cells have drains in the floor, and with the right codes in a keypad manacles come out of a few areas, and they can order tools. There must be a chute of some sort, so if I can find where the tools are coming from, that could be an alternative way in."

Scott- the bug guy- nods, pensive, "if there's any way you could get your hands on the blueprint of the cells, I might be able to figure out how to open the chute from the outside, bypass the keypad's control."

You nod, "I'll try." You take a deep breath, the hard part, "I screwed up, made a noise, and I would have been caught if it wasn't for Bishop- or whoever she is. She pulled me into a side tunnel. She had a bag with her, full of tools, and was in a stealth suit. It looked like she was planning on busting in. When she left the tunnel, she stopped to kiss her hand and touch it to the door." You look to Bucky for answers, "That wasn't even the strangest part."

Clint is already considering every possibility- if 'Bishop' might have a reputation for kissing her victims it certainly narrowed the field of who she might be, "Marco didn't really give us anything to go on with her- _asshole_ ," the curse was more of a grumble.

"Well, I might have something. Bishop showed me a picture she keeps on her- it's got you in it, Black Widow, _her_ , and a bunch of Agents around you. Some kind of party, maybe."

 _That_ got Clint thinking, "So she's ex-SHIELD? What did I look like?"

"Younger than now," you shrug, "Black Widow had long hair, if it helps."

Clint waves that off, "Nat kept the long hair until relatively recently." He rubs his chin and leans back to look up at the ceiling, "So Bishop is ex-SHIELD, she _knows_ Nat and I, and…" he shakes his head and looks back down, "I don't know anyone at SHIELD who would risk their life to save Laura's who isn't Natasha or dead, and if Bishop was Natasha, Pierce would have recognized her."

"Hydra could detect a holo-mask in their own base _easily_." Bucky offers, "She'd last about ten minutes with a fake face."

"There was… an incident." You can feel yourself go pale, your voice quiet and tremble slightly, but you press on, "Bishop had to leave me behind, as a distraction. It was my idea, it saved our lives, but… Bishop tried to save me from it as much as she could without blowing her own cover. She's convinced we have the same mission, and she wants to meet my team."

No one looks surprised, not even Steve. He just looks to Bucky, "Corner of Riverside and US-2. There's a warehouse there they haven't turned into apartments yet. It's a relatively nice area."

"That hardly sounds like a good place for a firefight to erupt," Sam shoots back.

"It's a _terrible_ spot," Bucky agrees, "and that means whoever Bishop is with won't have had time to scout it out. The warehouse they're _hoping_ we pick is by the railyard. They could be there now getting ready for a trap."

"Civilians _will_ be hurt if this goes south," Clint joins in Sam's protest.

"It won't go that far," Bucky says. "I, you'll go with (Y/N), Clint, you'll stay up high, keep an eye out for snipers, Steve will handle the meet. Scott, you can lock the building down, Wanda and Sam, you keep it from spilling out onto the streets. The least recognizable of us- and Steve- meet Bishop, the rest contain the mess and make sure we don't end up in an ambush."

"You're _hardly_ among the 'least recognizable'," Wanda points out. "My face was all over the news even _less_ than yours when everything went to shit."

Bucky shrugs, "I've gotten a haircut and another arm. I'll be fine. We haven't gotten a clear shot of Bishop's face _yet_. If she's someone dangerous and we _can't_ kill her, Clint at least can identify her without _her_ identifying (Y/N) as an Avengers-sympathizer. If Hydra tortures her, I don't want her able to give _anything_ up."

All eyes shift to Clint, it's his decision how to proceed. Bucky wasn't joking when he said Hawkeye was the boss. His family, his mission, his choice. Even you watch and wait while the man considers it, "I need to know what the playing field looks like," he says at last. "She doesn't know we're Avengers, she doesn't know how many of us there are, and hopefully her team isn't as good as ours. Putting Steve out sends a message, it could make her reconsider any attack. I say we go for it."

"How do you contact her?" Steve looks to you.

You check your watch and down the rest of the coffee, "I go back to the café and wait. She'll come for me, I'll bring her to the location." Sam makes to stand the same time as you, but you wave him off, "I'll walk. It'll give you all time to get there and get ready."

"Good luck," Bucky gets up to walk you to the door, "even if you don't see the Avengers, they'll make sure you're safe if things get bad."

"Thanks."

"I'll meet you outside the warehouse and escort you two in. If they have a sniper, we'll let them slip in as well. If we're gutting Bishop's crew, we're going to be thorough. Today, either way, things are going to get a lot simpler."

Your voice is so quiet you don't even think Bucky will hear when you start to speak, "I think one of the kids is-"

"Don't say it." Bucky's face doesn't hold warning, but a deep weariness, "We need hope. Don't say it."

You nod, "I'll see you at the warehouse."

"Chin up," Bucky offers a slight smile, "today we might get to kill some bad guys."

"I don't kill. Not even bad guys."

He gives you a wink, smiles darkly, and opens the door, "You're missing out."

* * *

Bishop slides into the chair across from you so quickly you're _glad_ Bucky or Sam didn't drop you off. She must have been watching and waiting, "Where's the meet?"

"A warehouse on the corner of Riverside and US-2."

Bucky would have taken immense satisfaction in the frustration that flashes across Bishop's face, "That's a residential area."

"Planning an attack?" You ask innocently, "It's just a pow-wow, right?"

She laughs bitterly, "You don't trust me and mine, and I don't trust you and yours." She chews on the inside of her cheek, "I guess if anything it makes us all behave." She growls and pulls out her cell phone to text the address to whoever her team might be, "They were _on_ the far side of the _city_."

"I think that was my companion's idea." You smile innocently, then get up, "It's a fifteen minute walk. We'll meet them there."

Bishop stands more slowly, "The idea was to meet on even ground."

"Trust me, you could bring an army and it _still_ wouldn't be even ground." You feign confidence as you walk back out of the dingy place and head down the street, the woman at your side looking drawn and tense.

Bishop doesn't even speak to you as you both walk. She occasionally checks for signs of some follower- a Hydra spy maybe- but no one pays you two any attention as you enter the edge of a neighborhood filled with cute little houses. You look like a recovering junkie and her sponsor out for a stroll- or a girl and her much older sister. Bishop has more than a decade on you, "How did you know him?" You ask at last.

"Doesn't matter."

"You knew two _Avengers_. I think it merits a story."

"No, it doesn't." She's on the defensive again. The relative truce you two had called after last night was wholly and completely being used to pull Bishop towards the meeting with the Avengers. She was obviously reconsidering being so friendly with you.

You see the warehouse roof ahead as you allow the walk to lapse into silence once more. You and Bishop are two sides of the same coin- both drawn, both pale, both with your hearts pounding in your ears. Her loose fitting blazer hides any weapons she might have strapped on, and you catch a hint of body armor peeking over the edge of the neckline. She's ready for a fight, you aren't. Still, chances are better you walk out of one alive. Especially after there is a whisper from the bushes beside you and Bucky slides out to fall into step.

A change of clothes and he's a different person entirely. His hair is casually slicked back in that 'I-just-got-out-of-bed' kind of way, and he's wearing simple tennis shoes, slacks, and an airy black shirt. Bucky casts you a wink, "Bishop, your friend arrived before you. Don't worry-" he says at her sharp, startled glance, "we didn't touch her. She thinks she's being stealthy. She'll be set up to shoot me in the head. My guys will be covering you _and_ her."

You cross the street and enter the warehouse, thankful for the steadying hand Bucky puts on your back. He lets Bishop bring up the rear, even though now she knows damn well she's at the disadvantage if a fight breaks out. Inside the warehouse it's as open and exposed as can be. She looks up to where her leader is undoubtedly hiding- somewhere with a clear view of the room but where the room can't get a clear view of _her_. It's a warning, to expose her position so openly- _They know you're up there_.

Clint, parallel to the hooded woman in the rafters, but much better at hiding, draws his bow as you, Bucky, and Bishop enter. He has a clear shot of the back of the woman's head. One wrong move, one wrong _breath_ , and he will put an arrow through her skull then through her companion before the one in the hoodie even finds his position.

"Agent Bishop," Steve clips the words as he steps out from behind a pillar _just_ out of the hooded woman's line of shot, "it's nice to finally-" the second she steps out from behind Bucky the air goes out of Steve's lungs. His mouth hangs open for a long time, and when he breaths it's more of a hard pant. You and Bucky brace- was he hurt somehow? Steve looks up to the rafters, "Get your ass down here- _now_." He's breathless.

Clint curses having his _own_ position given away, but he loosens the string on his bow, slings the weapons back over his shoulder, and grabs a repel line. He'd better be damn sure about this- that this _imposter_ is a friendly, that there won't be a need to-

His feet hit the floor and Bishop turns, the same stunned expression on her face as Steve's. At the sight of Clint she claps a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob. He takes in Bishop for all of half a second before he takes a step forward and his legs give out. You and Bucky watch, incredulous, as Bishop throws herself at Clint and wraps her arms around him. He cups her head in his hands, feeling for a holo-mask, before he too lets out a sob.

"Laura?"


	15. The Story Returns

Hi everyone!

First off, everyone is AMAZING for not getting too peeved that this fic was abandoned. In fact, you have all been so incredibly patient that...

 **IT IS BEING UN-ABANDONED!**

I am working on finishing the fic and hope to have it done relatively soon (maybe even by the end of next month).

One thing you should know though... the fic was abandoned because I actually vehemently dislike X-Readers. It is a format I let myself get talked into writing that I hated even before starting the fic. SO, to make it finish-able, I am turning it into a "normal" story.

I am posting the newly formatted chapters here under a different title, "To Save Her Soul", so that future readers won't be confused by the comments from when it was an x-reader and just to give it a second life. Again, the story content isn't changing at all, I'm just converting the narration format. The 13-14 chapters that had been posted won't change in content at all. Even story hiccups are remaining in place (She's in Virginia but at one point I said Vermont for some reason).

 **I want to make it perfectly clear this decision was not reached because of the harassing comments some users left on the story.** They can still go fuck themselves, I write what I want. It is simply me continuing in a format I prefer over x-readers (I cannot emphasize enough how much I hate that format).

So yeah. THANK YOU to everyone who loved this story and followed it. You can always check out the ending and pretend it was an x-reader to see what "you" did and if "you" even survived. The rest can tune in to see what happened to *trumpets* Alice Pierce.


End file.
